


The Painter (frerard)

by patheticpunk



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Art, Artist Gerard Way, Asshole Gerard Way, Bottom Frank Iero, Death, Dom Gerard Way, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Morbid, Murder, Sub Frank Iero, Top Gerard Way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 11:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15142583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patheticpunk/pseuds/patheticpunk
Summary: "I don't bleed for my art, I kill for it."Frank is a busboy at a restaurant where he can barely pronounce the name of the food, only landing the job thanks to his best-and only-friend Pete. He lives his life with little company and fear of being alone, until one night he stumbles upon someone that'll change that, for better or for worst.Gerard is a social interaction fearing artist known for his bright, bold red splatters that seem to follow him wherever he goes.





	1. Chapter 1

"I really love this piece." The woman said, holding her glass in a dainty way that made her seem superior to everyone in the room. "Wouldn't it look just divine in the dining room, dear?" Mrs. Jackson turned to her husband who nodded slowly, staring off into space. At this point he would buy anything to make her happy, for he had forgotten their anniversary and she was already starting to suspect of something else. 

He didn't need her blowing up, if she divorced him it would be disastrous, and only end up with bad press reports about his company; he knew everyone adored his wife. No matter how many times he fucked up, she was always there, with her charity's and donations to repairing an orphanages roof after the last major storm; she was loved by the public, and it it weren't for her he be out of business. 

The seller knew this. Maybe no exactly this, but he knew that woman was getting anything she wanted. He smiled brightly, telling her how this piece was one of a kind, though she would have ended up buying it even if he hadn't said a word.

The artist was well known and at this point she was sick of the ladies at the club bragging about their own paintings, all bought for too much money. They went on and on about how charming and talented the artist was, always using vibrant reds that 'popped out so perfectly against my eggshell walls' as Cheryl said so poshly, only causing Mrs. Jackson to order another glass of champagne to wash away the bragging words, and deciding that no matter the price, she was going to get one of those damn paintings. 

So here she was, walking out of the building with her guilty husband, feeling successful with the fact that her two million dollar painting would arrive at her house the next week. 

Gerard watched the woman from the second floor of the building, rolling his eyes at how easy it was for Patrick to sell a painting. He wasn't as surprised as he used to be when he first met the man, Patrick could sell a moldy banana peel for at least two hundred. Patrick smiled at Gerard, laughing a bit at his expression.

"Those woman would buy anything if it meant they could brag to each other." Patrick chuckled, sitting at his desk and typing up some document Gerard could care less about.

"I don't doubt you, Patrick." Gerard laughed, sitting at a chair. He didn't visit the gallery often, preferring to stay at his home and be the recluse he was. The only reason he had came in was to talk to Patrick about approval to hold a show at the gallery. He didn't really want to do one, knowing he would have to be there and talk to the snobby people who bought his art, but he knew it would earn him a lot of money in just one night.

"So, how do you feel about the auction?" Patrick asked, but he only shrugged. "You only half to show up for an hour, I promise. Just talk to a few people, act like a charming piece of shit. You might even meet someone." Gerard glared at Patrick, who raised his hands in a surrender type of way. Patrick sold his art, managed all his shit, even got groceries delivered to his house so he didn't starve, but on top of all that he was his best (and only) friend since high school, and what kind friend would he be if he didn't push him to get a date.

"I'll go, but if you try to set me up with someone I'll actually cut out your eyes." Gerard smiled, knowing he wouldn't actually do that. He would do that to his friend, at least.

"Okay, fine. Remember you have to wear nice clothing. So don't show up in skinny jeans and a shirt you haven't washed in a week like usual." Patrick warned, knowing his friends tendency to not wash his clothes, or take showers. He wouldn't even let Patrick hire him a maid. "And take a shower for once, please." 

"Okay," Gerard laughed, walking out of the building as fast as he could.

\---

Lewis was the most well renowned restaurant in the city, famous for its pizza, though they didn't call it pizza they called it some French name Frank couldn't remember, not like he wanted to. He would only ever need to know that name if he ever came to be a waiter there, which would never happen, even if his best friends dad owned the place. He would also never get another job, because who would hire a high school drop out?

Frank barely even got paid minimum wage, but he didn't care because he lived with Pete in his fancy ass apartment that his father paid for, and ate Pete's food. He really hated that he was basically a leach, and insisted that he paid for something. Pete let him pay for the milk that they bought once a week. Frank took that responsibility seriously, and was happy to say he hadn't failed to buy that milk for the five years he had lived with Pete. 

Frank and Pete had been best friends since high school, when Pete insisted he went to public school instead of the private one his father wanted him to go to. Pete had one the argument, but was disappointed to find the kids at the school really hated the fact his dad owned many companies and businesses, making him very rich, leading Pete to get bullied to no end. Frank, however, thought Pete was cool, and decided to make friends with him, even if it meant he would get shit. The two grew closer as time went by, even to the point where he lived with Pete when he got kicked out at the age of 17. They were like brothers, and they vowed to never turn on each other—no matter what.

Pete had got Frank the job at his fathers restaurant when he was about twenty, noticing that Frank was pretty bored staying around Pete's place all day, playing video games and eating an unhealthy amount of chips. Frank really liked his job, even though all he did was wash dishes, take out the trash, and occasionally run out to get something that a guest required. The place always smelled like expensive food and clean carpets, the dim candlelight making it so Frank ran into at least two chairs every time he arrived at the restaurant a few minutes before opening.

"Okay, we need everyone to be at the head of their game today, we're going to be catering for a art auction down the street." The manager told everyone, and the room buzzed with excitement when he mentioned the artists name. Frank didn't recognize it like everyone else seemed to, but it didn't really matter, for he was probably going to be stuck in a corner all night, washing dish after dish.

For the rest of the day work seemed to speed up, and everyone seemed eager to be catering such a fine event. There was even talk of the owner going, which Frank didn't doubt, having been to Pete's house and seeing the loads of art his parents owned. He wondered if they would drag Pete along with them, something they often did, in hopes of parading him around to show they had raised a normal child, and maybe even finding a nice girl. This never worked unfortunately, because Pete would just make stupid jokes and accidentally bump into things, or hide in the restroom and text Frank about how horrible it was, his friend laughing when he learned Pete had locked himself in the restroom with twenty of the tiny appetizer things Pete couldn't identify but devoured anyway. 

Now that Pete was older, his parents didn't force him to go to as many of these events as he used to, accepting the fact their son wasn't fit for it and leaving him be. They were happy enough that he had some kind of passion, even if it wouldn't make him much money, and hardworking friends which good personalities. As far as parents went, Pete believed he had pretty decent ones, unlike his parents friends, who had forced their children to attend private schools and become lawyers and doctors, when all the child really wanted was to do was open a small thrift store.

Frank however, never had the luxury of supportive parents. For his parents, unlike Pete's who completely supported his crazy ideas, never excepted that he didn't want to go into the family business nor did he have any interest in marrying a nice girl right after high school, or maybe ever. He at least wanted to be on his own for a while, find out who he was. He didn't want to be tied down right after being set free from the bounds of childhood. They didn't understand that though, and decided that if he didn't obey their requests he wouldn't be living under their roof.

So, Frank found himself going to Pete, who had always wanted Frank to live with him anyway, because Pete was still stuck in the childhood dream of wanting to live with your best friend forever. By the looks of it, Frank would never be able to move out, so maybe Pete's dreams will come true. The only time Frank ever regretted living with Pete was when Pete decided he wanted to blast Taylor Swift songs throughout the entire apartment, though he secretly enjoyed it.

\---

Gerard and Patrick watched from the loading area outside the first floor as trucks arrived, all carrying in large metal bins held food that Gerard wouldn't eat in a million years. Patrick had scolded many times for his lack of culture, but even he agreed that pizza was much better than the fancy shit from a restaurant with a name that he couldn't pronounce. 

Patrick greeted everyone nicely, thanking them for being here on such short notice, though he had made the reservation a week ago. Gerard sat in the corner and smoked, frowning when he realized many more people would be there then he expected. Patrick walk over to him and gave him a disapproving glare. 

"How many times have I told you to quit that!" Patrick said through bared teeth, grabbing the cigarette out of Gerard's hand and throwing it on the floor, stomping it out. "It'll kill you before you're 50, I read it in a article you know. It doesn't help that you started at such a young age, you've had this habit for what ten years?" Gerard nodded, and Patrick shook his head in frustration, to anyone else this would seem like an overreaction but Patrick was the of a worried mother. "You're only 26! That's means you've been doing this since you were 16! I'm very disappointed." Gerard laughed at him.

"Think of it this way Patrick," he started, chuckling a bit at Patrick's angry face. "When I die all my shit goes to you, you're my only friend. And when an artist dies, they're stuff goes up in price, so really you should be encouraging me to smoke these death sticks." 

Patrick glared at him, putting on a composed and happy face before walking off to speak to the caterers, leaving Gerard to sulk in the corner, lighting another 'death stick' and watching people walk in and out of the gallery.

\---

Frank was nervous as he helped unload the truck. He had never been to one of the fancy events the restaurant often catered, and Pete told him that messing up would be disastrous, which made Frank wanna throw up. In all honesty, Pete was only trying to help, but as he went on and on about these things he came to realize that even if he was stuck in some corner the whole time, he could really mess up. By the end of his little speech, Pete saw that his friend was pale and almost turning green.

Now, to make matters worse, he saw someone as he carried a box with plates. The man was crouched in one of the dark corners, black hair falling into his eyes and a perfect hand holding a cigarette to his mouth. Frank almost stumbled to the ground when he saw him, and was glad that the man seemed to not have noticed him. The murmurs of the rest of the employees made it obvious this guy was important, and Frank found himself looking down to avoid his watchful gaze. 

Frank made it inside without dropping his box of plates, and was greeted by a very modern looking area, which he had almost no time to look as he was shuffled farther into the building to find they were being directed by an unfamiliar man, who was somehow shorter then Frank. The man was quite nice but warned them that his boss had a short temper, and Frank heard more murmurs of the artist he everyone seemed to know of. 

They got to work immediately, setting up the food and starting a few dishes that couldn't be cooked at the restaurant and had to made right before they were eaten. Frank didn't have much to do except make sure the plates were shiny to the point where he could see his reflection, and watch the trash to make sure he didn't have to take it out yet. He laughed at himself when he realized when one of his jobs was to 'watch the trash', and knew Pete would have made a joke about watching himself to be the same thing.

\---

Gerard had wanted to avoid the entire event, maybe he would stay outside for an hour, tell Patrick he had talked to a few people and leave, but Patrick wasn't dumb, and decided he wouldn't even let people in the building until Gerard came inside with him. Gerard rolled his eyes as Patrick ranted about how bad it would look if he didn't show, how he could easily charm the guest which a few smiles and well said words, as he had seen his friend do many times. 

"Just come in here with me for thirty minutes then you come back out here for a while." Patrick promised, and Gerard accepted, standing up from his place on the ground. If anyone were to see this conversation, it may have been compared to a mother trying to get her son to talk to party guests, yet that was basically what happened.

Gerard hated it from the moment he walked in. The bright lights were too strong, only worsened by the reflection of the crystal chandelier Patrick had somehow convinced him to buy. There were too many people, all dressed in nice clothes and bright smiles, the ladies perfectly glossed lips moving to reveal gossip of their peers, the mens stable positions and low grumbling speaking of their own business as well as their wife's interest in this young artist and his work. He was even more appalled by their cheerful greetings as Patrick made his entrance known. Patrick's smile bright and welcoming to the guests while Gerard was of pure disgust and fake happiness.

Patrick walked to a particular couple in the corner, they looked middle aged, like most of the people here, and seemed to be quite nice, though Gerard preferred to talk to people like these rather then the snobby woman and disinterested men, he didn't really want to talk to anyone.

"Gerard," Patrick said as he dragged Gerard to speak to the couple. "These are the Wentzs." Gerard shook their hands and smiled as convincingly as he could. 

"Oh, it's lovely to meet you." The woman said, her dress a dark blue that complimented her dark hair. The man shook his head in agreement.

"You as well, Patrick has told me much about you," Gerard greeted, and Patrick smiled in encouragement, happy his friend had said the right thing for once.

The conversation continued for a few minutes before Gerard was forced to talk to another couple, and then another and another, all speaking in a manner that made them seem superior then the last, and Gerard had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at their fake smiles and annoying conversation.

Finally, Gerard looked down at his watch to see it had been thirty minutes. Excusing himself from the conversation he was having with a annoying woman that Patrick could hardly get along with—and Patrick was able to be friends with Gerard—he walked out of the building and into the cold night air, ignoring the people who tried to stop and talk to him. No one would follow him outside, for the building was located on the 'bad' aside of town, especially in the night.

He took a deep breath of chilling air, reaching into his pocket for a lighter and the cigarette he so desperately craved. He retreated to the corner he had inhabited just a bit earlier in the night, leaning against the stone wall. 

He narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the veil of darkness that blocked him from clearly seeing the short figure standing about five feet away from him. At first look Gerard thought it was Patrick, causing him to roll his eyes at the though of another rant. Stepping closer to the figure, he saw black locks that didn't match Patrick's light hair, as well as a jeans and a t shirt that set him apart from anyone else at the party.

"Hey," Gerard greeted, strutting over to the boy, and standing next to him casually.

"Oh, hi?" Frank said, waving a bit as his position became awkward.

"I have a feeling you're not from the party?" He laughed, taking a drag calmly.

"No not really, I'm with the caterer, it's my break." The younger replied, smiling nervously at the man he probably shouldn't be talking to, but knew he couldn't ignore either.

"I'm Gerard, but you probably knew that." He smirked and Frank almost scoffed at this guys attitude, yeah he knew who he was, the snobby artist this whole event is dedicated to. Gerard tapped his foot, waiting for the others name.

"It's Frank." He said, and Gerard smiled, reaching to shake his hand. Frank hesitantly took it, and Gerard laughed at his attitude. "What are you doing out here anyway? Not to be rude, but isn't that whole thing for your shit anyway?"  

"Yeah, it is." Gerard sighed, "but Patrick is the one who had the idea, and I didn't want to do it but I don't really have a say." 

"That sorta sucks." Frank had sudden pain of sympathy, the guy wasn't a total asshole.

"Well, I did get to see a pretty face like yours, so that's a plus." Gerard smirked, and Frank looked down, blushing slightly.

"Thanks?" He laughed, stomping out his own cigarette and checking the time. "I really need to go though." 

"Wait, could I get your number?" Gerard asked and Frank stepped closer, smiling as he nodded.

"Sure, do you—" 

"Frank! You better get back in here if you don't want to get fired!" Someone called, and Frank turned to follow them, glancing at Gerard apologetically. Gerard grabbed his arm, almost laughing that Frank thought he could get away that easily.

"He'll just be five minutes, I'm sure you can understand." Gerard called to the person, and they nodded, not wanting to get fired themselves. "Now, your number?"

Frank chuckled as he grabbed Gerard's phone, punching the number in quickly.

\---


	2. Chapter 2

"Pete!" Frank called as he entered the apartment he shared with his friend. 

The first thing Pete noticed was Franks bright smile. He was a bit concerned, in all honesty, for he had never seen his friend come home from work that happy, even if his job was what kept him sane. Pete was used to Frank coming home and crashing on the couch, watching Pete play video games for a while before he couldn't watch Pete completely fail anymore, and pick up the controller to show him how to correctly play.

"What're you so happy about?" Pete asked, watching Frank suspiciously as he sat on the couch lightly, unlike his usual collapse onto the closest piece of furniture.

"The restaurant catered some art thingy," he started, but Pete burst out laughing before he could keep talking. "What?"

"Was it one of those weird ass drugs and shit things?" Pete laughed, and Frank rolled his eyes. "I don't know man, you look like your high off paint fumes or some shit." 

"Nope, I'm just both happy and tired at the same time." Frank explained, laughing a bit at Pete's stupid assumption, which he really should've expected. "Now can I tell you what happened?" Pete nodded, even turning off the tv and turning his whole attention towards Frank. "So, I was on my break, and went outside for a smoke, ya know?" Pete nods his head for his friend to continue. "Basically, there was some cute dude out there and I gave him my number." Frank cut his speech off quickly, sleep slowly creeping up on him.

"Some homeless dude?" Pete laughed, and Frank narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. 

"No, you fucking idiot." Frank muttered, putting a pillow over his head in a attempt to block out Pete. "The fucking artist."

"Not one of those assholes." Pete sighed, wanting throw a pillow over his face as well. He didn't understand how his friend could develop any sort of attraction to someone like that. He shouldn't be mistaken though, he really did want Frank to find someone, just preferably not one the snobs Pete had encountered in his life. Sure, they weren't all the same, there were a few exceptions he had met, but they were rare, and usually the shy, quiet type, that donated to foundations once a month but never went to charity fundraisers, and would probably never approach someone other then their closest employees on purpose. 

"Oh, come on Pete, he was cute. Besides how can you judge someone so quickly, you don't even know his name." Frank scolded his friend, taking the pillow away from his face. 

"Okay, who is it then?" Pete asked, raising his eyebrows at Frank. "Maybe I do know him. My parents do at least." Pete knew that his parents had been cramping the last week because some artist had requested their restaurant cater his event. Usually his parents wouldn't have even been informed, the restaurant wasn't their main priority, but the artist was very famous, and hardly ever did theses things, so even though they were booked, they had to take the opportunity. 

"Gerard something." Frank said, waving his hand in excuse for not knowing the last name, Pete almost laughed at him.

"That dude practically never leaves the house." Pete chuckled, recalling a discussion his parents had had over Christmas dinner. Pete's mother was bragging to her sister about the new painting she had bought.

"It cost almost as much as this house." She had said, her high heels clicking against the hardwood floors as she carefully explained all her new things. Her sister gasped, taking a step back from the piece, and mentally punching her sister in the face for marrying a wealthy business man, while she was stuck with a doctor.

Pete shook himself out of his memory to find Frank rolling his eyes at him, "Well, then I'm lucky he did just this once. It was quite the pleasure to meet him." Pete took a sip of soda sighing at his friends lack of understanding the world Pete had grown up in.

———

Gerard lived on the coast. A large house with two floors, not including the basement, fit to host grand parties and other events that someone of his status should be doing. It was decorated mostly by Patrick, who had an eye for these things, though his room and the basement were decorated by himself. Of course, this resulted in that section of the house being unreasonably messy, much messier then the other areas of the house which were hardly ever used, or even stepped foot in. 

The house was set on a cliff overlooking the sea, which was almost always a dark green, unlike the clear water he had expected, sheltered by an overcast sky that rained often. This part of northern California was usually cloudy, one of the reasons he picked the location, other then the fact the cliff his house was on reminded him of Tony Stark's house, and he couldn't really say no to such a prospect. The cliff was rocky and dangerous, and he could see the crashing waves against the beach if he leaned over far enough on his deck, which he did often, admiring the beauty of chaos.

Living alone in such a big house didn't help his paranoia, the smallest sound echoing through the halls, you could hear almost everything, which led him to constantly blare music, no matter what. He was lucky he didn't have neighbors for miles, or he probably would've gotten a million noise complaints by now.

Today was another quiet, raining day, just like the last. It would be peaceful in the empty house if it wasn't for his blaring music, and screaming matches with the tv. He leans back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as he hums along to the music. A heart shatter scream tears through the air, and he sighs, lazily picking himself up from the couch and dragging himself down to the basement.

"Please, anyone?" The man screams, and he rolls his eyes, leaning against wall. He glares at the man, who is about twice his size, and probably age, with light hair and soft features, the man was clean shaven, and had a small scar on his face. He almost laughed at himself; he memorized theses features but he didn't even bother to learn the mans name.

"Can you shut up." He asks, and the man looks up, seeing a boy, maybe in his late teens, in a skeleton onesie. He stares at him in confusion, this couldn't be who kidnapped him?

"Who the fuck are you?" He asks the greasy boy, he would laugh at his appearance if he wasn't in this situation.

"I was gonna wait a few more hours, but..." he says, picking up a metal pipe he keeps in the basement. He approaches the man, who's frozen in fear, and hits him across the head with a sickening crack. The mans head leans to his shoulder, obviously knocked unconscious, or worse, not that it mattered.

He tilts the mans head up, inspecting it to see its pretty badly bruised. "I didn't do that, at least." He giggles, picking up the blade on the small metal cart in the middle of the room. He grabs mans arm, holding it so his wrist is facing him, placing it over a large bucket before running the blade over the visible vein, slicing it cleanly. Blood runs from the wound like water from a spout and he grins at his work, watching the bucket fill with the rich, velvet liquid.

He hums along to the music that's blaring upstairs, taking the bucket away once it's full, wrapping the mans arm up so it doesn't dirty his floors; Patrick would hate that. He places the bucket in a small fridge dedicated to this particular... hobby. He takes the next thirty minutes to carefully place the mans dead body in a bag, deciding to dispose of it at a later time. He wipes himself off, frowning when he's sees a small blood stain on his onesie.

"This is why you plan murders," He said into the air, "I got my lazy day clothes stained." He frowned to himself, walking up the stairs and looking up how to remove blood from clothing.

———

"Gerard!" Patrick calls into the house, his voice barely traveling through the loud music. He stomps over to the iPod that plugged into the speakers, turning it off and sighing from relief as the music stops. "Gerard! Where the fuck did you go!"

"I'm right here." He replies deathly calm as he steps into the room, wiping his hands off with a dish towel, still in his stained onesie. "Do ya know how to get blood out of clothes?" He picks up the park of onesie that's stained, and Patrick rolls his eyes.

"Burn that. I'll order you a new one." Patrick insists, and Gerard frowns, not wanting to burn another thing this week, but deciding he can kill to birds with one stone. "Your such a child, can't clean up after your own murderers, and you do it in pajamas." Patrick knows he sounds crazy, but they both are at this point and there's no going back. No matter how simple it may seem. 

"That man wouldn't stop screaming, so irritating." He complains simply, looking his friend in the eye with a glare that seemed to burn holes through his head.

"Sorry, you just need to be more careful." Patrick says, eyes scanning the floor as he apologizes for nothing. He's learned not to test the others temper, especially after he's killed, when the murder is still fresh in his mind. Though he knows his friend would never hurt him intentionally, you can never be too careful.

"It's fine Patrick." Gerard says, sighing. "I should be more careful." He sits on the couch, and Patrick sits next to him, patting him on the shoulder. 

"So," Patrick starts, deciding he needed to change the subject. "What was this news you wanted to tell me. The news that you 'couldn't just tell you over the phone, for that would decrease the dramatics needed to properly understand the situation.' As you said." Patrick laughed as he remembered his friends words, and even more when he saw Gerard brighten slightly at the mention of his beloved news.

"I took some of your advice, Patrick." Gerard said, as he took out his phone.

"What?" Patrick questioned. He had suggested Gerard did many things differently, but it was rare that his advice was even considered, much less taken. Patrick saw as his friend held up the phone, revealing a picture of a man in his early twenties. "Are you going to plan killings now?" Gerard almost punched him.

"No!" He exclaimed, holding his phone to his chest in an almost protective manner. "This isn't for pre meditated murder, Patrick, you're sick!" Gerard laughed a little, though, looking at the picture again, and showing Patrick. "Isn't he cute?"

"Oh, that's what this is about." Patrick realized, inspecting the photo further. "How did you get this photo?" Gerard shrugged, looking down at the floor.

"I did some digging." He said simply. "Turns out I actually put effort into things when I wanna fuck a dude, who knew?" Patrick cringed at his crude wordings, and put on a displeased face, taking that simple statement as a sign Gerard wasn't actually going to try and have some kind of relationship, just a substitute for his right hand for a night. Of course even that wasn't set in stone if he continued to be an asshole.

"My advice," Patrick started, "was not to find a quick fuck. You need someone in your life other than me. I'm barely around with all the work I do anyways, and you could really do with someone who will always be around."

"I'm surprised you think so lowly of me, Patrick." Gerard scoffed, texting Frank as he spoke. "Look, I texted him. And I will take your advice, if fate decides it to be so, of course." Patrick smiled, satisfied with his friends words, and knowing it was not an empty promise.

"So, he got a name?" Patrick asked, getting up and walking over to the bag of grocery's he had brought. He started to fill the fridge as Gerard talked about the boy he had met like a fucking lovesick teenager.

———

"So, you gonna call him?" Pete watched from over his shoulder as Frank stared at the number, finger hovering over the call button. Frank sighed, looking at Pete with a worried expression.

"I don't wanna seem desperate." Pete shrugged, picking up an apple from the fruit bowl, and biting into to it to find it was plastic.

"Fuck that interior designer." He muttered, throwing the apple at the wall. Frank laughed, momentarily forgetting his troubles. Of course Pete had to bring them up again. "You should call him. Or I'll call him for you." Frank held his phone to his chest, knowing Pete wasn't joking. "Dude, I don't need your phone to call him, my mom probably has his number in her contact book." Pete rummaged in his pocket looking for his phone, and frowned as he realized it wasn't there. Just as he was about to try the couch cushions, Franks phone rang, making them both jump.

"Hello?" Frank said after answering the phone cautiously. Pete stared at him intensely, tapping his foot. "Oh, hi Gerard." Pete smiled at him as he spoke.

"Yeah, it was nice to meet you too." Frank said and Pete laughed at him as Frank blushed and giggled at something Gerard said. "Thanks." He breathed, and tried to shoo Pete away as he made an obnoxious kissy face.

"Of course." Frank beamed, turning to look at Pete who was giving his a thumbs up. Frank rolled his eyes, still smiling as Gerard talked to him.

He said a quick "goodbye", hanging up the phone and staring at Pete, who stared back him, both with the biggest smiles on our faces. Frank flopped back onto the couch, mumbling something about the conversation.

"You act like a teenage girl." Pete said, and Frank throws a pillow at him, rolling his eyes at his friends chuckles. Pete catches the pillow and holds it to his chest, ready for his friend to go on a rant about how childish Pete was, only to be followed by a ten minute conversation on what he should wear to the date Pete assumed he had.

"So?" Pete asked, throwing the pillow back at Frank when he didn't answer. "Hey fucker, listen to me." Pete drew out the word 'me' for dramatic effect, earning another eye roll.

"Who's the teenage girl now?"


	3. Chapter 3

The car drove through the dirt path, bringing up a thin layer of dust. The dark veil of night is pierced by the dull headlights of the vehicle, illuminated the trees ahead. This is not an everyday road, but a small path in the middle of the woods, barely fit for walking, let alone a car. It doesn't matter, for though the path is clearly meant for hikers, it's used mostly for shady dealings and teenage rebels only prospering in the late hours of the night and early hours of the morning.

Tonight, criminals and punks who would usually seek the place as a meeting point are nowhere to be seen, knowing that tonight is reserved for the worst of them all, someone who know one has ever seen and lived to tell the tale. It sounds like a horrible nightmare, a man capable of taking away life so easily, then blending in to society like he hadn't seen the life leave someone eyes. But it was a truth everyone tried to forget, and could quite easily, if they only avoided the woods this one night, and hoped to be lucky enough to not be picked as the next target.

The music bounces through the car, his pale fingers tapping the steering wheel coolly, the scene being similar to one of a man on his morning commute to work. He sighed as he reached the perfect clearing, not bothering to turn off the cars engine as he opened the door, slamming it shut in a disrespectful manner that he knew Patrick would've hated. He walked to the back of the car, running a hand through his raven locks before opening up the trunk to reveal a body bag. He smiled at the figure, happy to find the trunk was free of the smell that a dead body could carry. He dragged the bag out of the trunk, slamming it closed as he brought it far away from the front of the car, so the headlights were barely illuminated the scene.

He grabbed the container of gasoline from the car, along with his stained pajamas, and walked them to the area, dumping the body and the clothes in the same pile before pouring a heavy amount of gasoline. Taking out his lighter, he produced a small stick from his pocket as well, lighting that and taking a drag before dropping the small flame on the pile, bringing it to life with roaring heat. He walked away watching the fire happily and trying to ignore the stench of burning flesh and hair.

Gerard leaned against the car momentarily, taking a few seconds to watch the masterpiece brew before him, before climbing in the car and speeding off into the night.

———

The clattering of dishes and shouting voices is always present in the kitchen of Lewis', of course that should be expected, but that doesn't stop Frank from absolutely hating it. He didn't despise his daily routine of washing dishes and clearing tables, though, actually, he quite enjoyed it. It was better then half the jobs some of his friends of high school had gotten, and the constant rush kept him distracted from his own thoughts. 

Since he was a child, his own thoughts had been something he wanted to avoid. Unlike other children, whose thoughts must have been plagued with ideas about their toys or other mindless activities used to distract them, he thought about depressing, mind numbing things that a five year old should never even consider. 

Frank had wrapped his mind around death at a very young age, witnessing a car crash that ended in the death of his friend, Zack. Zack didn't have many friends; just Frank and a few other children. The parents of some of his friends had told their kids Zack had simply moved away, deciding the truth could be revealed at an age where they would understand better. Unfortunately, it wasn't so simple for Frank parents. Frank, witnessing the accident, had been brought in for questioning to see if they could find the driver who had fled the scene. Frank wasn't much help, but insisted to his parents for the next few weeks that they tell him what happened to Zack. 

Frank had laid in bed that night, silent tears escaping his eyes as he thought about death. He wanted to believe that the heaven he was told about would be there, or even the hell. He wanted to believe it, and for the most part he did. But he couldn't help the small part of him that thought about a kind of purgatory, a place where there was nothing, no feeling, no sound, no pain even. And honestly, he rather go to hell.

Thoughts like these had poisoned his mind since Zack's death. Any chance for him to be alone without anything to distract the thoughts flooded his mind; it was one reason he loved the beach. It was a place that you could be alone, but there would still be something, the crashing of waves, the feeling of the sand under your feet. It was all one big distraction, a place he could be alone with his thoughts but not exactly alone. He would let himself almost drown in the waves, wait until he felt a crushing weight on his lungs, then break through the surface for that vital gulp of air, just to do it all again. He would never kill himself, but he loved thrill of being close.

Pete had noticed Frank and his tendency to never be alone. It was why Frank insisted on them sharing a room even though there were more then enough bedrooms, why Frank would always have music blasting when he was alone, why he kept the tv on at night. Pete had tried to get his friend to talk about it, but he always changed the subject. Pete even tried speaking to Franks parents, but they hung up on him as soon as they learned he was a friend of their son.

But, even with Franks absolute need for noise and distraction, he couldn't find himself ever being okay with the sound of plates and utensils clacking and scraping together. There was something about this annoying, scratchy sound that repelled him more then the yelling of the cooks, and the sizzling of the food would ever; in fact these sounds were almost nice sounding to him, especially the sound and smell of food cooking, because no matter how weird the names of the food were, they were pretty damn delicious.

"Frank, can you clear table seven?" A waiter—Spencer, he thinks—says, and Frank gives a quick nod, smiling as he exits the noisy kitchen into the dining area, which is filled with quiet chatter and a bit of music in the background, along with dim lighting that gives you the reassurance this place is too fancy for you to be able to actually see the two thousand dollar decorations.

Frank picks up the dishes from the table, placing them in the tub he's brought before wiping the table off throughly. He walks back through the area, keeping his head down and not looking at anyone as he walks back to the kitchen. He renters the brightly lit room, and his eyes almost burn from the brightness.

His phone rings in his pocket, and he fishes it out, smiling at the caller ID. 

"Hey, gerard." Frank grins even though he can't see him. The girl preparing to bring food out smiles and him and gives him a thumbs up, Frank laughs a little and nods, recognizing her as the girl who caught him outside.

"Hey, your shift end soon?" Gerard asks over the phone, the sound of clattering dishes in the background making it obvious Frank was still at work.

"Yeah, five minutes. Why?" Frank starts to clean the area around the sink.

"Meet me outside." Gerard says, his smirk clear through his voice, before he hangs up.

———

"Hello?" Frank said as he slid into the car, and Gerard smiled at him, saying the greeting back before speeding off. Frank almost screamed when Gerard took off with no warning, his seatbelt barely on.

"Where are we going?" Frank asked, holding onto his seatbelt for dear life—Gerard was not the safest driver—as Gerard laughed a little. "It's almost midnight." 

"Perfect," Gerard said with a smirk. "It has to be dark where we're going."

"What the ever loving fuck do you mean?" Frank practically screamed, curling up a little in his seat. He had never loved car rides, in fact they made him sick when he was little. Frank had very clear memories of his mother frowning as she saw her son had thrown up in the car, and though events like this slowed as he aged, eventually stopping altogether, it didn't stop him from having a fear of cars like someone may have a fear of planes. Pete often laughed when Frank insisted they walked two miles in the rain instead of taking a taxi, but Frank only ever rebuttal with the fact that dying from a car crash was very common, to which Pete rolled his eyes.

"You'll love it Frankie, it's nice in the night." Gerard smiled sweetly turning his head from the road briefly, to which Frank reacted to by screaming at him to "look at the damn road!" followed by a meek, "Please." Gerard only chuckled at his frantic ways. "Are you scared?"

"Yeah, sorta." Frank choked out, wrapping his arms around his own waist protectively.

"There's no need to be afraid, I'm a great driver." Unfortunately, that was far from the truth. Gerard almost never went anywhere, and when he did, he had Patrick drive, not wanting to get a taxi for fear of any sort of words needing to be exchanged. Gerard had gotten his driver license when he was seventeen, but had only used it a handful of times. When he did drive, it was usually dark, like this, so maybe he did have some kind of advantage. Gerard couldn't really tell Frank that, though, considering it may come off as suspicious if he was known to only drive in the night.

Well, he was suspicious, but so far nobody seemed to notice—and if they did, it wasn't questioned—and he would like to keep it that way.

Gerard clicked on the radio, watching Frank relax a little through the corner of his eye. Something about music always seemed to get people to loosen up a bit.

"You wear that suit all the time?" Frank asked, trying to get his focus off the road ahead of them and onto something less nerve racking, qlike Gerard's weird ass clothing. "It's a bit formal, don't you think?"

"Maybe, its either this or pajamas." He shrugged, not putting much thought into the question until Frank took the material between his fingers carefully, before dropping it and huffing to himself, starting to fiddle with something else.

"It's soft." Franks says, and Gerard nods a little laughing a bit under his breath. "Whatever, you look good in it." He blushed at his own words, not wanting to take them back but embarrassed by his own straightforwardness and hyperactivity. "Sorry, I'm a bit jumpy."

"I've noticed." 

———

Beams of pearly light hit the ocean, adding a glimmer to the dark water and glossy shine to damp sand. It really was quite the sight to see, moonlight hitting their faces with an odd glow, illuminating Franks face of awe at the shimmering sea. 

The sand was soft and cool under their bare feet, contrasting from the usual, burning sand someone may encounter on a hot summer day. 

"Why haven't I ever gone to the beach at night?" Frank asks himself quietly, for getting Gerard in his own hypnotised daze in which its origin rested in the reflection of his glassy eyes. He thought back to he countless nights he spent playing video games with Pete on the comfort of their couch, while he didn't regret those times—valuing every moment he spent with his best friend—he thought of the beauty that laid only a few miles away, not so far from their bright screens and sleepless habits. 

"Who knows?" Gerard smiles, and Frank barely notices his words as they disappear behind the sound of crashing waves. "I'm not much better, I usually only see this place from my window." Frank hears that though, and wonders how great it would be to see this everyday, even if you didn't leave your house. Pete had almost ended up getting a place near the beach when his father gave him the choice, but opted for the hectic city lifestyle over the casual ways of the beach. That was one thing Frank liked—and simultaneously disliked—about California, it was so relaxed yet so busy at the same time. Quiet, private beaches only miles away from office buildings. Really, Frank was grateful for Pete's choice, preferring a loud, restless city to a calm, not-so good natured, beach town. Cities don't hide their flaws, they embrace them.

"That must be nice, being so close to the beach." Frank says, trying to make conversation but Gerard just hums in response, walking towards the water and beckoning Frank to follow.

Frank follows easily, laughing a bit at Gerard's urgency to get closer to the dark waters, which Frank wouldn't trust not to have all the horrible monsters known to man lurking in its murky waters—despite this fear, he only smiles as he's tugged along. Well, he smiles until the water is only inches away, threatening to reach out and touch their toes with its icy grip. Frank tugs back, trying to free himself from Gerard's grip, but Gerard only laughs, pulling Frank into the water.

"It's freezing!" Frank shutters, staring down at his wet feet and the soaked ends of his jeans. Shockwaves are sent through his body as the tide pulls the water in and out slowly, his face twisting with expression as the cold hits him like a fighter in the ring.

"Yeah, it is." Gerard shrugs, stepping out of the water slowly, and shaking his head to himself, sighing. He pulls Frank out with him, and Frank silently thanks him, knowing he would probably die there do to the frozen position he was put in. Frank laughs a little and Gerard raises his eyebrows in question. "What?"

"Does the cold not bother you?" Frank asks with a knowing grin, and Gerard stares at him, shrugging. Frank giggles at Gerard's ignorance—if you call not knowing Disney movies ignorance—and calls back countless memories of him and Pete watching that dreaded movie over and over, before screaming out the lyrics incorrectly and shamelessly. Gerard claps a hand over Franks mouth, shutting him up as Frank grins childishly.

"I hate you." Gerard says jokingly, and Frank sticks his youngest out, forgetting about Gerard's hand and accidentally kitty licking it, Gerard takes his hand away from Franks mouth, making a face of disgust and going to wipe it off. Frank giggles at Gerard's expression,  but blushing a deep red from his own mistake. They keep walking towards the street, the silence seeming almost misplaced from the comfortableness despite the situation.

———

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that." Frank laughs once they're back in the car, and Gerard gives up, chuckling along with Franks contagious happiness, soon enough finding themselves sitting on the sand, breaking into laughter every time they look at each other.

"It's fine." Gerard says, and Frank internally sighs in relief. "But you owe me now." He winks suggestively, and the blush that had left Franks face returns with a vengeance.

"Oh, yeah?" Franks tests, trying to ignore the blush that had taken resident in his cheeks, bringing an eruption of shyness and the urge to bury his face in the damn sand. "And what do I owe you?"

"Hmm," Gerard hums thoughtfully, before looking back to Frank with a dangerous smirk. "I want a kiss."

"A kiss?" Franks questions him. "That's all?"

"I could do so much more, sweets, don't test me." The scarlet colour in Franks cheeks grows darker, and he allows himself to giggle nervously. "But let's start with this."

Frank allows his lips to be enveloped by Gerard's as he's pushed up against the side of the car door, Gerard putting himself in the awkward position between the two seats, but only laughing it off against the smaller mans lips before continuing with his previous activity.  

Franks lips were plump and soft, Gerard noted as he plastered his own against Frank, who giggled as Gerard stumbled around the car, not minding but finding it cute, his experience showing at certain times but for the most part not showing up at all, masked by his natural skill. 

Frank gasps as his wrists and grasped by Gerard, who holds them to his sides forcefully, as he moves his lips from their current positioning to Franks neck, mouthing at it softly. Soon the simple action becomes a bit more extreme, and his licks at the pale skin before latching his lips onto Frank completely, sucking there harshly in the hopes it'll leave the marks he expected.

Frank gasps as Gerard attacks his neck, realising he was right in his suspicion that he wanted more then a simple kiss, for this was quickly descending into the area where it would be considered heavily making out—not that Frank minded.

———


	4. Chapter 4

"Fuck, dude." Frank gasps as he shuts the door of his shared apartment, causing Pete's head to shoot up faster then a speeding bullet, a small smile spreading over his face at the sight of his flustered friend, twisting his head around awkwardly to try to catch a better a better look at the small glimpse of the dark marks dotting his neck.

"What's with you?" He asks knowingly, resting his chin on his fist with a playful glimmer in his eye. Frank hardly notices Pete's happy, questioning look in his excited frenzy, energetic though he's still blown away from his earlier experiences.

"What's not with me?" Pete rolled his eyes, but Frank ignored him, plopping himself down on the seat next his friend while grabbing the box of Chinese food out of Pete's hands. Pete was left shocked, though this had happened many times before he had never failed to feel a sense of pure betrayal each time, these times when he questioned if this man was truly his best friend. 

"Did he not feed you or something?" It wasn't as if the question mattered, for it was a known fact that even if Frank has just eaten a ten course meal—if those even existed—he would still end up stealing Pete's food, yet Pete would do the same to Frank.

"Nope." Frank laughed, forking down the food hastily with the chopsticks he hadn't seemed to master no matter how many times he used them. "It was amazing though, we probably just sat there for half an hour in silence. I'm not sure what happened afterwords, really, it was all a blur after he placed his lips on my neck," Frank furrowed his eyebrows, trying to remember what had happened. Suddenly his face softened, a small blush forming as the memory flooded back.

"What did you?" Pete asked, part excited to hear his friends experiences, part scared to find out his friend had been drugged. He didn't really trust people with money, even though he was someone with money. 

"At least I didn't suck his—" he was cut off by a pillow hitting him in the face.

"You whore!" Pete shrieked girlishly, laughing as the pillow hit Frank, causing him to grunt in shock, falling back awkwardly.

Frank sat back up grumpily, rolling his eyes at Pete. "I said I didn't. Besides even if I did—and I didn't—you're one to talk." Pete tilted his head, shrugging passively and accepting something he knew to be absolutely true.

"At least I wasn't as bad as Urie." Pete chuckled, thinking back to the teen who the two were briefly friends with years ago. 

"No one could even compete with Brendon." Frank says.

———

"So," Patrick said, the next morning, if you could call it morning with the sun having only risen fifteen minutes ago, the sky an orange hue, streaks painted along the skyline as if they had been done on the canvas of a true artist. "You seem happy?" 

"Can you make pancakes?" Patrick rolls his eyes at his friends answer, which didn't provide knowledge besides the fact he wanted pancakes. Anyhow, Patrick still strolled over to the cupboard, fetching pancake mix and a mixing in one swift movement. "And yes, I am happy. Great observation, Patrick."

"Ah, and why would that be?" Patrick asks as stirs the batter, and Gerard scoffs, getting up to watch Patrick from the breakfast table and make sure he doesn't mess up. Patrick had never been the best cook, but he really enjoyed the activity, so Gerard let him take his best shot at it every once and a while. As Patrick poured the batter in to the pan, Gerard regretted getting dressed into nice clothes before coming downstairs, for it flung all over his black suit.

"Patrick this is new!" Patrick laughed at Gerard's frustration. It was funny how the twos personalities often switched, Gerard turning into the serious one while Patrick had been in his place just a few hours before. "And, since you seem to have to know the origins of my happiness, I went on a date last night."

"Oh!" Patrick smiled brightly, dropping what he was doing and walking over to Gerard quickly, eager for any details his friend could provide. "Tell me everything. I need a name. A full name. Do I need to do a background check? What if he's a murderer? What if he's a rapist?"

"It's me you're talking about, Patrick, I'm the murderer in this situation." Gerard says casually, and Patrick sudden realization hits him as hard as when he first found out. He'd never leave his friend, but he didn't really like that fact, the fact he thought his friend talked about much too casually. "And he's too cute to be a rapist." 

"I don't know about that, Gerard." Patrick warned, not liking his friends assumption. Just cause someone was cute didn't mean they weren't dangerous.

"He's like 5'4 and a fucking obvious bottom, I'm pretty sure I'm safe." Gerard scoffs, moving his hands in the air while he talked. "Besides, I have a certain... knowing about these things, I know when someone's dangerous."

Patrick didn't doubt that. As long as he had known Gerard, the man had warned him about people and he was almost always right. Patrick hadn't learned his lesson to listen to Gerard about people for a while ago, going through many betrayals by people he thought were friends, and being mugged by people who he met on the street and Gerard advised him not to speak to. He finally started listening after something happened he'd never forget.

Patrick didn't trust people anymore. Ironic, really, the only person he trusted was a murderer. 

"Okay, when do I get to me him?" Patrick asked, again treating Gerard like a teenager. Patrick was basically Gerard's mother, considering his mother didn't even talk to him, nor did the rest of his family. "Is it that boy you were talking about a few days ago?"

"Yes, Patrick, and, for your information, I was a gentleman." Gerard stuck up his nose like one of the many snobby people he called his neighbors, to which Patrick rolled his eyes.

"Did you take him out to dinner?" Patrick asked, flipping a pancake sloppily. 

"No..." Gerard trailed off, and Patrick glared at him.

"Are you kidding! What did you do? Don't tell me you ruined this already!" Patrick exclaimed ignoring the burning pancakes. "I didn't even get the chance to go and beg him to give you a second chance and you already fuck up?" He finally turned back to his cooking, slamming a burned pancake down on a plate and setting it in front of Gerard with a bang.

"I took him to the beach, it looked nice." Patrick softened a bit, sighing in relief. As long as he didn't try to fuck him in the back of his car after, it was a pure, innocent date that didn't sound half horrible. "And then we made out." Patrick took a deep breath. If he made out with him willingly, he probably likes him, he reassured himself. Patrick didn't trust much at all, but he especially didn't trust people who did anything too explicit on first dates. "That's not too bad, right?"

"No, I guess not." Patrick picks up a dish towel, wiping down the counter that's spotted with batter before eating his own pancakes. "Do you really like him?" He asked, and smiled when he saw his friend nod sweetly. Patrick was happy for Gerard, he wanted him to have the best. He just wished he wasn't so alone in this world.

———

"Another person missing today; Andy Hurley, aged 30, was reported missing by family yesterday. They say he's been missing for a week, but assumed he was on unplanned trip or something of the sort until it had been almost five days with no response to their texts and calls. If you have any information, please call the Los Angles county police. His family asks that, if he's watching this, they miss him and hope he returns soon."

The news flashes by this quick report, and Frank stares at the screen, disinterested. People go missing all the time, it's nothing unusual, especially in a largely populated city like this. Nothing too concerning, until the persons remains are found in a dumpster in Florida. Nothing too unusual happened here, ever, not to him, at least. A pig could sprout wings and crash land in a Starbucks, and sure he'd be a bit shocked, but he'd get over it quickly, everyone would, except for the few crazies who actually gave a damn, and thought something of it. 

"Don't fucking expect me to pick up your fucking dishes, Pete!" Frank called as he heard the pouring of cereal, along with a annoyed groan. Pete didn't really do the whole clean thing, one of the reasons he wanted his best friend to live with him is so he would eventually pick it up, but unfortunately, they were both slobs, except one of them sorta grew up and the other was stuck in a childish phase that resembled a fourteen year old boys attitude.

Pete grumbled to himself from the other room, preparing his own breakfast and throwing an apple at Frank, more to show his annoyance then give him something to eat, though that planned failed, leaving Frank to grab the apple out of the air skilfully.

"Would've done better in baseball the me." Pete sighs, sitting down with his bowl of cereal as Frank chews the apple with a smug smile.

———

Certain things are always noticed, but never pointed out, or asked about. These things are usually very interesting, and the most interesting things in this world are never picked out if crowd. It's a sick, twisted, truth. So sick and twisted it became one of the very interesting things in this world, and therefore went unrecognised.

One of these things was Gerard's lack of red paint.

Though not many people ever really interacted with him besides Patrick, the few that did noticed his lack of red paint. It was odd, they all thought, especially for someone who used red paint in practically every painting he put out into this world. Of course, no one actually said anything, why would they? They had no reason to, they didn't even have a theory as to why there may be a lack of red paint. So, every time someone walked away from his house, they left with the assumption the absence of red paint was probably due to its overuse. It made sense. It made too much sense.

Loud—almost sickeningly so—music pumped through his house, echoing off the walls, as it did only a few days before. Then he had a good reason to blast his music, to muffle the screams of a dying man, but now, all he had was a strict desire to listen to it this way. Unfortunately for anyone passing by the house, he always got what he wanted.

The rich, velvety liquid he had dipped his brush in glided over the canvas just like paint. It was beautiful, really, no matter how morbid it is, there's no denying the beauty and elegance that came with every drop. This substance that ran over the canvas with his trick, his secret weapon, he believed it was because of this method—and Patrick's charm—he rose to the top. It was like an offering to some god he didn't believe in, a sacrifice to whoever decided who got to be successful in this world.

This particular painting, like all the others, would most likely be sold to a wealthy man or woman, destined to be hung up in some pretentiously named room, to be admired by some pretentiously named people, and bragged about to said people by the owner until it was no longer an acceptable talking point and was forgotten until a new person came along to brag to. It was an awful cycle of rich people doing things to show how rich they were, like pretending to understand the deeper meaning behind the art rather then just buying it cause it was the most expensive and therefore must be good.

There was something Gerard had told no one—not even Patrick, who knew practically everything about him. Though art was something he was passionate about, something he did truly love, it wasn't the reason his job kept him happy. No, his love for his job came from the much darker part of it, the part where you lied your way to the top and watched others do the same, the part where you laughed as others suffered, the part where you killed with no consequence.

He didn't care, and though he hated the snobby people who bought his art, he became one of them. He bought expensive things for no reason, and he'd probably brag if he had anyone to brag to. 

There, maybe not so fortunately, was something that set Gerard apart from the others. He didn't hide behind a curtain. He didn't hire others to kill for him and sit back, waiting like the evil queen waited for snow whites heart. No, he was no evil, spoiled brat, he was his own huntsman, and he'd fetch that damn heart for himself, because, no matter how gory it ever was, he did his own dirty work.

———

"You shouldn't walk home, you may be the next one missing." A voice calls from behind Frank, startling him. It were situations like these that made him resent his fear of cars, no matter how reasonable it was.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you, though." He smiles awkwardly, stepping away from the figure hidden in the shadows. The nights were quite terrifying around here, especially these dark streets, where the calming sound of waves crashing against the shore in the far distance lured you into a false state of peace, leaving you vulnerable to the night. They were like allies, the ocean and the night. The night intensified the oceans beauty, helping lure the hypnotized victims to there dooms in the dark waters, another soul to feed the oceans never ending desires. Then the ocean, well, how does the ocean not help the night? For any death in its pitch black hours—even one to the sea—was another missing person to be credited towards them, the night wants all the attention. Why should the sun be in the spotlight?

"Are you sure? A pretty boy like you, you gotta be careful around here." A sick smile practically pierced through the darkness and Frank backed up some more, ready to run for the hills.

"Yes, I'm sure." Frank stated firmly, walking away and letting the man fade into the night, another slipped through the grip of the night.


	5. Chapter 5

"What's wrong?" Pete asks barely a few minutes after Frank walks in, sensing his friend is in distress somehow.

"Nothing, nothing, just a run in with some creep." Frank waves the question away, taking off his coat and sitting next to Pete at the dining room table. He taps his fingers along the table nervously, sighing as Pete slides a slice of pizza to him. "Thanks." Franks mind wanders away from his previous experience, instead traveling to his earlier thoughts. "Did Gerard call?"

"Yeah," Pete frowns, still not so sure about this character. He looked him up—being the protective friend he was—and didn't like what he saw. 

Of course, on the surface everything seemed fine, great actually. Gerard was charming, nice, an all around good person who probably donated to charities or some shit and might have helped an old lady walk across the street a few times. He was described as talented and handsome, the perfect mix to make someone an asshole, and besides, with this many people saying such great things about him, who's to say he hasn't fucked half the rich housewives who want nothing more then to cheat on their old husbands with someone just like him. Or maybe he was just into really kinky shit and Frank might get hurt.

Pete shuddered, almost spitting out his food at the thought.

"You didn't answer, did you?" Frank asked, and Pete shook his head. "Thank god."

"What do you mean? If I answered I could have handled it fine." Pete prided himself as being a people person, he thought he handled situations with ease and was always someone people wanted to talk to. It was another shard of a childhood dream he held on to, being a greeter at a pirate themed restaurant he couldn't remember the name of. 

"Sure." Frank said sarcastically, eyes wandering over to the stack of dishes Pete had made while he had been out. He sighed, telling himself he'd leave it be and let Pete take care of it himself, though he knew he'd probably end up cleaning them due to Pete's gross laziness.

"Are you gonna go on another date with him?" Pete asked, and Frank looks at him as if he's crazy. "I get bad vibes off that guy." He stated. Unlike Gerard, Pete's 'vibes', as he called them, were almost never accurate, landing Frank with several charges of vandalism and breaking and entering, though they were all Pete's doing.

"You've never even met him, Peter." Frank smiled cockily at Pete, who scrunched up his face at the name—it was what his parents called him. "And yes, of course I would go on another date with him."

As if on cue, the phone rang, leaving Frank to jump for it and Pete to groan exasperatedly.

"Hello?" Frank giggled into the phone and Pete rolls his eyes. 

"Hey, I tried calling earlier but unfortunately you must have been out. I was hoping you'd like go out with me tonight?" Gerard said all at once, sounding like he'd practiced it a few times and the very though made Frank smile.

"Of course." He said softly, and even Pete smiled at his friends grin—even if he didn't trust the one causing it.

———

Gerard messed with his hair a million times, and each time he fixed the problem he found something new to fuss about, whether it was that his whole doo was messed up or a single hair was out of place. Patrick had knocked on his door on several occasions, yelling at him not to use the hair spray too much, for it was about ten years old and probably toxic.

Gerard didn't really listen, coughing as he inhaled the fumes and cause Patrick to almost have a heart attack.

Gerard pushed through the house, ignoring Patrick's calls to be safe and running out with only a quick goodbye. His car was parked right outside, and the sight of it reminded him of when he last drove it. Frank was terrified of driving, for some unknown reason, and held onto the seat, his nails practically ripping it open like a cat. Gerard hated to admit it, but he thought Franks frightful habits were pretty cute.

The way he closed his eyes and held onto to the closest thing for dear life, Gerard wanted to be the closest thing next time.

As long as he wasn't driving.

The street lights were very bright in the night, enhanced by the darkness surrounding them. There were so many cars out at night, most driven by young people looking to get lost in the night with a few drinks and deafening loud music. Many said nightclubs were only fun after a few drinks, but Gerard had to disagree. Nightclubs were never the best, but at least sober, you were less likely to get drugged. 

The sickeningly loud music seemed to be a numbing agent to distract you from the way everyone was pressed up against each other, all of them having their own little breakdowns though they acted like they were having the time of their life, or even worse; they were hypnotised by the flashing lights they actually believed they were. Everything went so fast, yet so slow. As people jumped up and down yelling over the noise, they burned themselves out, until finally everything ached and a minute seemed to move like an hour.

Gerard absolutely despised nightclubs, but he also liked to watch people push themselves to the absolute limit, break apart under false happiness and feed themselves electronic lies that made peoples hearts beat a million times a second. He wanted to see people tear themselves apart just as much as he wanted to tear people apart.

And maybe that was why Gerard had decided to bring Frank there. He wanted to see if Frank broke.

And, though he was the one doing the breaking, he hoped the boy didn't shatter as much as he craved it so desperately.

———

Frank laughed as they entered the dark building, half from the already light, blissful feeling that fell over and him, but more from the fact of how much Gerard stood out in the crowd of casually dressed twenty year olds in his formal wear, that he still chose over anything remotely simple.

It was already about ten, and the club was buzzing with an odd mix of excitement and fear, like one nervous blob forming at the pit of Franks stomach. Gerard smiled a the queasy look on Franks face, sensing his uncomfortableness.

"I need to use the bathroom." Frank shouted over the noise, and Gerard raised his eyebrows; they had only been there for ten minutes and Frank felt sick.

"Okay, I'll order us some drinks." The older man shouted, watching Frank nod his head and scurry in the other direction before ordering Frank something, then getting himself the same thing but virgin. He sorta felt like an asshole, doing this date as some kind of sick experiment to test the boy, but another part of him just laughed it off.

The drinks arrived shortly after he'd ordered them, making sure the bartender pointed out which one had alcohol, he slipped something out of his pocket, dropping it Franks drink discreetly before sighing to himself. Gerard never really drugged someone's drink before, and he wasn't sure how the roofie actually worked but it wasn't actually like he cared. He'd originally planned to just get the younger really fucking drunk, but that might not have worked, and though he now had to stay sober to make sure he didn't fuck up big time, this was probably more efficient.

———

Frank stared in the mirror, splashing himself with water and trying to wake himself up. As much as he liked not being alone, he hated being in crowds of strangers and especially despised drunk strangers. This place was just one big hellhole, but at the same time he found himself happy to spend any time with the man who dragged him along.

Frank busted out of the bathroom, heading over to Gerard and grabbing the drink out of his hand, trying to act as calm as possible as he took a large gulp of the fruity thing, already feeling himself getting looser. Frank couldn't tell if the drink really strong or he was just a lightweight, but either way Gerard was smirking at him like he'd done something he shouldn't have, and no matter how much he wanted to be suspicious of that, Frank just found it really hot.

A few drinks later and Frank was leaning on Gerard, who laughed at him quietly as he pressed his cheek to his chest, arms slung around the older mans neck comfortably like he was gonna fall asleep, but his eyes were open wide and he talking faster then a auctioneer. Frank was like an over excited puppy, Gerard thought, snuggly and hyper.

"I really love all the colors here." Frank said, and Gerard focused on him exclusively as the younger's eyes ran around the room. "It's all cool colors like blue and purple and then there's a fucking blast of red like lightning. I wonder who thought of that?" Franks gaze fell on the dance floor, and he suddenly pulled Gerard's head down by his neck, making him wince in pain. "Dance with me? Pretty please?"

"Okay," the elder smirked, letting himself be pulled into the crowd. Frank didn't even let go of Gerard for a single second, much preferring to use him as a anchor in the sea of people.

Frank jumped up and down with the music, not really dancing but moving to the beat. He held onto Gerard the whole time, who just stood there, not really doing anything but resting that smile on his face and watching as the younger 'danced' excitedly. His gaze was only torn away a few times; to push away random people from himself and even a few who tried to start conversations with Frank when he wasn't looking.

The two went on like this for a good twenty minutes, Frank dancing and Gerard slowly pushing him out of the crowd. This action went noticed by Frank until he heard a thump and realized he had been pushed up against the black painted wall, just outside of the dancing mob. Gerard's hands kept Frank in place by gripping his shoulders, a forceful movement that complimented Gerard's dark glare. 

Frank didn't even panic, instead giggling softly. As Gerard's hands dropped to hold Frank in place by his hips, Franks hands went up to lace themselves behind Gerard's neck. They were in the position you would to waltz or some formal dance Frank had never had to learn. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately, Frank was too dazed to make any sense—Gerard's grip only stayed at Franks hips for a few moments, one hand again dropping but this time to cup Franks thigh, the other up to his head grip his hair as he pulled him in for a kiss.

Frank melted into it instantly, not really paying any attention to his own sloppy movements. Gerard wasted no time with formalities, biting at Franks bottom lip only a few moments into the kiss. The younger gasped at the heavenly spark of pain, letting his mouth open just enough for Gerard to slip his tongue into Franks mouth quickly. This was only their second kiss ever really, but Gerard wasn't a very patient man, and luckily for him Frank didn't mind, in fact, he almost seemed to enjoy it.

Gerard's tongue explores Franks mouth, who sucks on it like it's a fucking lollipop, grinning softly at the way the older lets out a small moan, not that Frank wasn't making any intoxicating little sounds himself. Gerard pulls Franks thigh up a bit, and, fortunately, he gets the hint, even in his dizzy state of mind, jumping up and wrapping his legs around Gerard's waist. He stumbles but only for a minute, tangling his hands back in Franks hair and pinning him against the wall with his entire body.

"I wonder what else you can do with that mouth of yours, honey." Gerard says breathlessly, smirking at the way Frank reacts to the words, grinding against him mercilessly as the music pounds through the speakers, sounding so distant yet it was so close. 

Gerard's lips traveled from Franks lips to his neck, sending shivers through the younger mans body. Gerard sucked and bit at the skin lightly, causing short breaths and tiny whimpers to erupt from Franks lips. It only got worse when he whispered against his skin, his alluring voice causing goosebumps to arrive on the youngers pale flesh. 

"Let's go." Without question, Frank followed Gerard out of the noisy, bright building that'd he'd really rather forget, or, even better, replace with memories of Gerard's touch. And, oh god, did Frank crave the latter.

———


	6. Chapter 6

The cool wind ran through Franks hair, and though a small sprout of nervousness grew at the pit of his stomach, he was clearly a lot less scared of the drive then he was last time, maybe it was the numbness from the drug or the alcohol or the ideas of what would happen when they got to their destination or even a combination of the two. His anxious clawing was replaced with giggles that were lost into the wind that blew back his slightly overgrown hair.

Gerard couldn't tell what was more distracting; giggly and sort of calm Frank or scared out of his fucking mind Frank. Though he didn't miss the part where the boy almost tore up his car cushions, he did find the scared little yelps he made incredibly cute, like a helpless little animal terrified of a doorbell. Then, Gerard only laughed at Franks worries, waving them off as a irrational fear and trying to calm him by placing his hand on top of the younger mans in hope of reassuring him that it would be okay (though it could also be Gerard's excuse for touching him, as if Frank would make him provide a reason). 

But, then at least Frank was fully aware of himself, now he wasn't, and, though Gerard hated to admit it, he was concerned. It was almost ridiculous, especially since the entire reason Frank was like this was because of Gerard and his suspicious actions, but in all fairness, Gerard hadn't expected he would end up giving a fuck about Frank, when he had only known him a week.

———

It was almost a natural thing, the flood of power that washed over Gerard as he slammed Frank against the wall, knowing the lustful sparks of pain that ran through the youngers body were present through the look in his eyes. Gerard smirks, knowing that Frank expects him to do something, anything, but he just loosens his grip, pulling Frank away from where's he smashed against the wall and leading him towards towards the bedroom door quite nonchalantly.

Frank slid across the floor almost gracefully with Gerard's pull, like a bug to the light, it was magnetic. Gerard kept his grip tight though, feeling the youngers hand almost slip tiredly out of his a few times, and even seeing Franks innocent, sleepy eyes. Gerard felt a pang of guilt, he was so out of it.

Gerard shook away the thought, opening his door and practically throwing Frank inside, slamming the door shut but turning to see Frank stumbling and catching him with a weak laugh.

"You okay, darling?" Gerard asks, not waiting for a answer and instantly shoving Frank against the soft comforter, who landed with a thump.

Gerard takes off his shirt easily, smiling when he sees how Franks eyes follow Gerards fingers as they unbutton the garment delicately, revealing the pale skin piece by piece. 

Gerard ran a hand over Franks now bare chest, pushing him down so he could barely move or even squirm under the olders forceful weight. He locked lips with him again, letting their lips slide together easily as a hand slipped into Franks hair, allowing Gerard to tug on the light brown locks.

Gerard moved his hand to grip Franks shoulder to hold him in place as he went at him with no roadblocks, kissing and biting and licking at everything as his lips traveled from Franks mouth to his jaw and finally his neck. Gerard tried to keep his eyes closed as he did so, bit couldn't help but catch glimpses of the others helpless form, laying there, practically unmoving his sleepy limbs at all. 

Gerard couldn't let himself do it.

He could commit murder, but for some reason he had an awkward sense of morals, and this was something he couldn't do. He wasn't actually sure if this was actually a bad thing to do, but it didn't feel right. Well, of course it felt good—the kissing and the touches, even just the others eyes, a savory hazel color, made his mouth water at the best mix of innocence and 'fuck me' he'd ever seen. 

But deep down, past the hot breaths and little noises that made Gerard wanna say 'fuck it' and ravish Frank, he wasn't sure. The boy was totally out of it, and Gerard almost laughed at how easy it was to get him like this. His thought process was so split as his lips latched to the youngers neck, the not so gentle biting and sucking definitely leaving a mark to be admired later. Gerard was almost sure that if Frank wasn't like this, so drunk and drugged and sleepy, he'd want the same things as he seemed to want now. But what if Frank woke up and didn't even remember, what if he found out that Gerard wasn't in the same state as him, what if he found out Gerard had planned this all along?

And then Gerard realized; he'd fucking planned this. 

At this point, he didn't know or care of this was wrong or not. He wasn't going to do it. Especially when the one person who really shouldn't be going through his mind right now was. Those were memories he'd known he was supposed to forget, as he'd been advised to forget.

Patrick.

No, Gerard didn't remember he was in love with his best friend or even that Patrick was downstairs right now and might be able to hear them, he remembered something that made rage bubble at the pit of his stomach, and that made nausea rise in his throat, not just directed at the vile creature that came to mind, but at himself. Sure, maybe this wasn't considered as bad as what they did, but it was still wrong in some way, it must be.

Gerard lifted himself so he still was above Frank, just not pinning him down like he had before. Franks hand glided over the sheets, probably unintentionally, and brushed against Gerard's hand, making him smile softly. He laid on his side now, petting Franks hair affectionately causing him to yawn a bit, seeming too dazed to really notice their sudden change.

"Maybe you should go to sleep." Gerard said, and a Frank hummed in agreement, but not moving from the way he was flopped over the edge of the bed quite messily. 

Gerard sighed, sliding off the mattress and staring down at Frank, finally picking him up carefully to move to a more comfortable position under the covers. Frank grumbled something incoherent, and Gerard chuckled, taking one of the extra pillows and deciding he'd sleep on the couch.

"Lay with me?" Frank mumbled, weakly making grabby hands in the direction of Gerard. Gerard's spun back, caught be surprise.

"Oh." Gerard breathed, scratching the back of his neck, unsure of what he should do. Franks pleading yet tired look made him give in, and he grinned when he saw the happy face the younger pulled when he strolled back to the bed. "Yeah, okay."

Frank scooter over, making room for Gerard to slide under the covers next to him. Frank grabbed onto him as soon as he was settled, nuzzling his head in the mans shoulder comfortably. Though he was tentative, Gerard eventually took to holding Frank, finding himself pulling the boy in closer then he had already been—if that was possible. 

———

Gerard woke up to Franks back pressed against his chest, his nose pressed into the youngers messy, soft, brown hair, it makes him laugh sleepily. He tries to move away, at least a bit, but fails, his arms crossed tightly across Frank, who seems to deep in the spell of sleep to be awaken anytime soon. 

Somehow, Gerard manages to slip his arm out from under him, sliding off the bed carefully but not before—albeit very hesitantly—placing a soft kiss on the side of the youngers head. Somewhere inside him, Gerard feels a spread of warmth at the idea Frank would've appreciated that if he were awake, maybe even given him one of those shy smiles he really had grown to love, though, in the short time Gerard had known Frank, they were rare.

Tip-toeing across the room, Gerard shamefully notices his own problem, and remembers the night before that led him to fall asleep like that. He regretfully strolled in the direction of the bathroom, sorting himself out and trying to keep everything out of him mind, hating how tempting the other man was—is. 

Every part of him was amazing, his hair, his smile, his lips. Of fuck, his lips. Gerard wanted to kiss Frank till he couldn't breathe, of course, but then there were other, much more dirty things he wanted that boy to do with his lips. Then their were his eyes, god, did he mention his eyes, because if he didn't, Gerard felt as if he needed to do a two hour presentation on those fucking eyes and how much they made him wanna shove the other down on his knees and make him beg, but at the same time compelled Gerard to hold onto Frank and never let go.

Gerard stomped down the stairs, a bit upset with himself, and in dire need of something to wake him up from this sleepy state, that, though he wishes it was, is not a dream. He'd pinched himself and even splashed himself with water several times to make sure this hellish version of himself wasn't a nightmare, but unfortunately, his deeds were proven reality. 

His idea of himself only worsened as he sipped his coffee, when he realised he needed to tell someone what had happened, and though it wasn't ideal given the circumstances, he knew exactly who that someone was. 

It was lucky that Patrick lived close enough that he could get to Gerard's in under ten minutes, and also lucky, though maybe not so good morally, that Frank would easily be out for another few hours, giving the two plenty time to talk, and, glancing at his clock, Gerard realised it was lucky Patrick woke up at five AM. 

———

"What is it now?" Patrick says, oddly bright for his choice of words as he enters the house. Gerard offers a small greeting from the counter, not bothering to move from his seat as his friend approaches him. 

"I did something of questionable... purity?" Gerard scratches the back of his head, and Patrick rolls his eyes, not sure why he was called over there to be told his friend did something bad, it's as if Gerard thinks Patrick is completely sheltered from everything his friend does, which is completely untrue, considering he's basically an accomplice at this point. And, if he's referring to something else, Patrick would rather not hear of it, because as much as he loves him, it's definitely not in that way.

"I really don't see why I need to hear about this, no matter what you could possibly be talking about. And if it's the one I think it is, I really don't wanna hear about it, unless you somehow got someone pregnant, which I doubt, consider—" Patrick's cut off by Gerard, who thinks it's probably better to stop him before he goes on a rant about his friends sexuality.

"No, no, it's not like that, it's much worse. I think?" Gerards not sure at this point, is he overreacting? Oh god, what if he's under reacting? Suddenly he feels like he can't breathe, sure he didn't do anything, but he fucking drugged a person. 

"What did you do?" Patrick asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and concern, he hadn't seen his friend this freaked out since high school, when he mistook the directions in science class and almost died from toxic fumes. And even then, he was over it quicker and was generally calmer about the whole thing then everyone else present. 

"I drugged him." Gerard says simply, staring at the ground. Patrick's a little struck at his words, but no, he refuses to believe it was for anything sick, no, he must have had a reason.

"Okay." Patrick takes a breath, running a hand through his hair nervously. "You must have had a good reason, right?" He smiles weakly, and when Gerard doesn't reply, only continuing to stare at the floor, he takes a step back. "You didn't... you wouldn't... do that? No, you wouldn't. You couldn't. Right?" Patrick stares at his unmoving friend, his breathing growing unsteady. "Right!? Oh god, oh god, oh god—"

"Patrick, I didn't! Okay, I swear." Gerard reassures him, and Patrick takes a breath, still keeping his distance. "I just... I got really close to, so close, too close. And I didn't even think about it until then, and I fucking planned it!" Gerard sobs, but Patrick makes no move to speak, but he also doesn't seem like he'll run away anytime soon, so at least there's that. "I planned it, and I went and bought the damn thing, and I almost went through with it! Thats, that's, just... if I hadn't stopped, oh my god." 

"I'm so sorry." Gerard says, not really to Patrick, or to Frank, or anyone in particular really, but maybe to himself, or maybe to the universe, for being such a fucking idiot. 

"The point is," Patrick sighs, walking closer, much to Gerard's relief. "You didn't go through with it, right? So, we won't speak of this again, and it'll all be fine." Gerard nods, and though Patrick wants to believe his friend wouldn't do this kind of the thing, he doesn't. At least not completely. 

But Patrick still trusts Gerard wholeheartedly, he's just not sure if others should.


	7. Chapter 7

Frank woke with a start, sitting up abruptly like those people in movies do when they wake up in a hospital bed, except he had no IV to dangerously pull out of his arm. He felt sick and dizzy, his mind fuzzy and eyesight burning. He knew this should be expected, but the last thing he remembered was passing out in Gerard's car, and Frank didn't remember even drinking too much, but it he also didn't remember how strong it was.

Frank was almost afraid to remove the covers in fear of what he might find, he didn't wanna think he got fucked on the second date. And then not even remember it. He hoped he wasn't that cheap, and even if he was, he hoped it wasn't easily noticed. If the truth's hidden well enough, is it even true?

When he finally dragged himself out from under the covers, he saw he still had his clothes on, which was a relief, even if they were a bit disheveled.

"How do you feel?" Gerard says, scaring Frank to look up rather quickly. Frank wondered how long Gerard had been standing there, and wether or not he'd seen Franks relief when he woke up to still have his clothes on. It wasn't as if he didn't want that, he just didn't want to do it and forget it. 

Frank held a hand to his forehead, sighing deeply at the pain that ran through his head before looking up at Gerard nervously. "Um, we didn't... ya know, did we? Not that I don't want to or whatever just, ya know." He awkwardly spat out his words, his eyes focused on the floor.

"No." Gerard breathed, and luckily Frank didn't notice the pained expression on his face before he replaced it with a sly, much faker, smirk. "You were pretty hard to resist though, you must know you're fucking hot." Frank blushed, but Gerard was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice the youngers reaction. He really hated that though his expression was just an asshole like cover, his words were pure truth.

"Oh, um, thanks?" Franks says trying to get out of the bed but standing up too quickly and finding himself tumbling into Gerard's arms quite awkwardly. He laughs at himself softly, feeling nausea build up in his throat though he's not sure if it's from nervousness, embarrassment, or last nights alcohol. 

"You don't look too good, Frankie." Gerard says, concerned, and Frank lets out a sarcastic 'thanks', and Gerard rolls his eyes. "You know that's not what I meant. Lay back down, I'll get you some water."

"Okay." Frank says quietly, letting Gerard lay him down on the bed carefully, falling into the soft sheets easily. "Everything fucking hurts." He grumbles like a child before Gerard closes the door, which makes the older laugh a little.

———

"You can stay here tonight, if you want?" Gerard offers as he runs his hand up and down Franks arm soothingly, Gerard had drawn shut all the curtains and blinds, but even the small amount of light that seemed in bothered Frank, causing Gerard to go and find some night mask thing Patrick bought him on Valentine's Day—or we're best friends and alone let's get each other presents to forget about that even though the shorter one is the only one who's actually excited about this bullshit. The mask was pink and fluffy for whatever reason, and though Gerard had never even taken it out of its package, Frank accepted it gratefully. So now he lay on the bed, tired as hell and looking like a bit of a primadona with the pink and the way he was flopped over the bed dramatically.

"Are you sure that's okay?" Frank asked, peaking at Gerard from under the mask. In all honesty, he was feeling a little better, but he didn't wanna leave, nor did he want to be forced into a car home, and he really didn't wanna be questioned by Pete. "I need to call Pete though, he'll be worried."

"Not when you're like this," Gerard insists, and though Frank wants to argue, he physically feels like he can't. "I'll call him." 

———

"Hello?" After getting Pete's phone number from Frank, then calling several times—to when asked, Frank replied, "He only answers numbers he knows, and that's only sometimes."—Gerard finally gets an answer. "Who's this?"

"This is Gerard," He says, sighing. By Pete's ton of voice, he seemed a little on edge, and Gerard didn't really wanna deal with that. "I was out with Frank last night." 

"Oh." Pete says distastefully, like he has a bad taste in his mouth. "And he's okay? Y'know I was worried about him..." he trails off, his voice suspicious and not very trusting. 

"Of course he's okay, why wouldn't he be?" Gerard asks, a little defensive of himself from the way Pete talks, like he was a criminal. Well, he is, but Pete didn't know that. Judging just from what Frank had said, Pete wasn't smart enough to find something like that out. And neither was Frank. Naive and much too nice, maybe that's why Gerard liked him. But that was dangerous thinking, especially for someone who'd come so close to taking advantage of that naiveness.

"No offense, buddy, but you seem like the snobby type." Pete says, ignoring the fact that he himself is a bit of the snobby type, but it's not like Gerard knows that. "And I don't trust the snobby type, especially not around my only friend." It was easy to say Gerard wasn't surprised Frank was Pete's only friend.

"My god, Pete, I just wanted to call to tell you that Frank won't be home tonight—"

"What the fuck do you mean, 'won't be home tonight,'!" Pete yelled, and Gerard smirked to hear the sound of shuffling and even a chair falling to the floor. It was really quite funny to him, the idea of Pete getting upset over something like this, it really just proved stupidity. "What did you do to him?!" Maybe he wasn't so idiotic. 

"Calm down," Gerard says, even though Pete really won't listen to anything he says. "I didn't do anything, he's just feeling a bit sick—"

"Bullshit!" Pete didn't even wait for Gerard to finish his sentence to know that the older was lying. "I knew I shouldn't have let him go out with such bottom feeding scum like you! I—"

"Hey," a calmer voice rang through the receiver, Patrick having ripped the phone from Gerard's hands in an attempt to get him to shut up. "This Patrick, a friend of Gerard's."

"I'm surprised the fucker has any friends." Pete mutters, and though Pete can't see it Patrick nods in agreement. Sometimes he questions why he befriended Gerard in the first place, but it's too late to turn back now.

"Well, he does, and, even if he did a bad job of informing you, Frank is perfectly fine. He's just sleeping." Patrick reassures, and as much as Pete doesn't want to believe him, he does and sighs.

"Um... okay." Pete says, giving up, he knows he shouldn't be so worried, but he also can't help the feeling in his gut telling him he should always be concerned for his friend, especially now. "Just– just tell Frank to call me when he wakes up, or feels better, or whatever."

"Sure." Patrick says with a soft smile, ignoring how Gerard glares at him angrily for taking the phone away. The shorter man turns to his friend with a sigh. "Being like that isn't going to get you anywhere."

"I beg to differ. In fact, I think any success I have has come from my attitude." Gerard says, even though he knows that's not true. He takes out a cigarette, and is about to light it when Patrick rips it from his hands.

"One; don't be so modest, really." Patrick as he hold the cigarette away from his friend, pushing Gerard back while reaching out as far as he can. "Two; if you smoke in here I'll be sure to push you off the balcony." Gerard laughs. "I'm serious, Frank is upstairs and he feels sick. Now be a good fucking host and bring him some water!" Gerard gives up now, knowing Patrick isn't kidding around.

"Fine."

———

"Hey, Frank." It's about four hours and two forced cups of water later that Gerard wakes Frank up from a restless nap. "You feeling any better?"

"Yeah, I guess." Frank yawns, and Gerard smiles, setting down another glass of water on the bedside table. Patrick had left an hour ago, saying it was better he got out of there before Frank was awake enough to notice his presence in the house. Gerard would've fought that, knowing he couldn't really take care of Frank on his own, but he also knew that Patrick was probably right, and having another person in the house might make Frank a little jumpy. But, Frank was always a little jumpy.

"I was hoping you would." Gerard says, watching happily as Frank takes a sip of water without being forced to. He's starting to act like Patrick. Gerard lays his hand flat on the sheets, gliding his hand back and forth over them mindlessly, creating a friction so the palm of his hand tingles like static. "You wanna come downstairs for dinner."

"What time is it?" Frank furrows his eyebrows. Looking to check a clock but not seeing one in sight. 

"Seven." Gerard answers simply, his hand gliding to Franks as the youngers did to his the night before, except on his part it was intentional, and as soon as Gerard's hand came in contact with Franks, he caught the others smaller hand in his own, even seeing a small blush rising up to Franks cheeks as he realised what Gerard had done. It was a small, cute gesture, which seemed a little off character for the older, and it definitely was, but Gerard felt as if he owed it to Frank, and it wasn't like he hated this. He actually quite liked it, but he wouldn't admit that.

He didn't really need to say he liked it though, anyone could see, and Gerard sorta hated that part of this all.

"It's later then I thought." Franks says quietly, his eyes drifting to the hand that Gerard had kept in his own. Gerard nodded, looking up just to see Frank looking down.

"Sorry, does this bother you?" Gerard asks, holding up he and Franks hand cautiously.

"No!" Frank replies instantly, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of Gerard question. Of course this was okay. This was more then okay with Frank. "No, of course not. T-this is perfectly fine."

"Good." Gerard says firmly, laughing at Franks odd stutter fondly. "You want something to eat?"

"I don't want you to leave." Frank says, blushing at his own words and a little afraid of Gerard's response. Frank didn't wanna seem clingy or like he was trying to hard, but he also didn't want it to seem like he didn't care at all. And, in all truthfulness, Frank didn't want Gerard to leave.

"Why don't I order pizza?" Gerard asks, and Frank nods, not really paying attention to anything besides the fact it's a solution to his problem. Gerard gets up to leave, but Frank doesn't let go of his death grip on the olders arm, pulling Gerard down and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. 

———

Pete paced around his apartment. He knew he shouldn't be so worried about his friend, and it was true that Patrick had calmed him a little, but he got bad vibes from Gerard, and the last thing Pete wanted was for Frank to get hurt. It's wasn't like Pete had any solutions though, it was like he could stop Frank—who probably wouldn't even give him a chance to speak about it—and it wasn't like he, Pete Wentz, the guy who stays in all day reading up on sims hacks, could try and bully Gerard into staying away from his friend.

Maybe Pete couldn't, and he surely didn't know anyone who could, but he could at least try to find someone.

Pete pulled out his phone, making about twenty spelling errors as he looked it up, and finally finding a number. There was a few rings and then finally a sigh as the other line picked up.

"You've reached Dallon Weekes, private investigator."

———


	8. Chapter 8

Dallon, truthfully, wasn't the most successful in what he did. In fact, he'd never actually done anything considered productive in his job of investigation, but Pete still called him, and though he'd be hesitant to admit it, Dallon had thought Pete was an old client who'd called to complain. He got a lot of those.

"Wait, let me get this straight, you're hiring me to investigate an artist that you're suspicious of because he's taking care of your friend who's sick." Dallon sighs, this guy sounded absolutely insane, but absolutely insane was probably a good thing is this case, considering it led him to Dallon. "And they're dating."

"They aren't dating, they went on two dates, but I'm concerned." Pete says, all of this sounds perfectly rational in his mind. "Now will you do it or not?"

"How long has your friend been... 'missing'?" Dallon asks, silently cursing himself for asking so many questions, he should know to just take the money and do some half assed investigating that that Pete will probably take. 

"Less the twenty four hours, and he called a few hours ago." Pete says, getting a little annoyed that this guy is so suspicious of Pete's problem. "You know if you're not gonna do it just tell me now, I'll call someone else."

"Wait, no!" This guy may be crazy, but these days Dallon's not gonna do much better. "I'll take the case, but I'm gonna need names."

———

"It's so bright in here." Frank groans as Gerard leads him down the stairs carefully, too concerned over the way Frank covers his eyes with his arm to let him go by himself.

"I mean, there's the sun, and I can't really do anything about that." Frank hums in agreement, having taken notice of how many windows there were in Gerard's house, though he didn't seem like the kind of guy who wanted the sun streaming in every chance it got. The curtains that he did have didn't do much, being thin and really more decorative then functional. "But I can turn off the lights?"

"That'd be lovely." Frank says, trying not to sound too crabby though Gerard didn't seem to mind, easily going to turn off the lights.

"The sun will being going down soon, at least." Gerard offered, and Frank sighs, sitting at the counter and resting his face on the cool marble. "You sure you don't want aspirin or something?"

"I already took some, thanks though." Frank mutters as he admires the blank wall, plain and cool, something he hates but desperately needs to heal the pain, even if it's slowly dying down. As much as he hates silence, it's something he craves at the moment, even if he knows it's not good for him. The silence that Gerard provided Frank this morning was deafening, a dark abyss to fall into when the younger was left alone. Frank had decided he'd rather deal with pain then have to be lost into the quiet again.

"I feel like the school nurse." Gerard says and Frank laughs a little. "'Well there's nothing I can do except give you an aspirin and a cheap ice pack, now do you wanna go back to class or call home?'" He wasn't wrong.

"I think the school nurse was a lot less patient then you." Frank replies, thinking back to the countless times in school he'd been sent to the nurses office, only to be met with an annoyed, middle aged woman who didn't give a fuck as long as no kids were dying. He was pretty sure that in one of his four brutal years of high school, the nurse had been fired due to a students' parents threatening to sue the school for something or another. It was no secret a lot of the students were upset, seeing as the dumb, unqualified, undernourished, and over appreciated nurse was either everyones favourite part of school or their most dreaded. She was "hot for a teacher" Frank remembered one of his friends saying, only leading him to reply, "does she even count as a teacher?" Frank was one of the students glad to see the nurse go.

"Well, I think I deserve extra credits while you sing my good graces." Gerard says, handing Frank another glass of water, which he seemed to be downing quicker and quicker as the day went on. "No school nurse ever had to deal with a hung over diva."

"You'd be surprised." Frank mumbles, until he catches the last part of Gerard's sentence, giving him a playful shove. "Hey! I'm not a fucking diva."

"Yeah, sure, because you definitely didn't spend half the day curled in bed with a pink sleeping mask over your face grumbling about life in unfair, and 'I don't deserve this!'" Gerard stomps his foot down at that last part, his voice high and squeaky in some kind of over dramatised, teenage girl version of Frank. Frank pouts and Gerard laughs at him, "Your face just further proves my point, kitten."

"Kitten?" Frank asks, scrunching up his eyebrows. 

"You remind me of a diva—don't even try to fucking fight me on that one—and kittens remind me of divas. And in general you remind me of a kitten, you should've seen yourself, all spread out and basking in the sun. It's cute." Gerard chuckles to himself, turning to face Frank. "What? Do you not like it?" He frowns, a little saddened by the possibility. Maybe it was a little creepy.

"No, like it. I was just thinking, you're awfully sweet for giving me a nickname. It sounds stupid but I think that's one of the nicest things you can do for someone." Frank smiles, looking down to hide his blush. "Especially since you seemed to have put thought into it."

"I'm glad you think so, but you're easy to be sweet to, it's like breathing for me. Simple and necessary." Gerard says, smiling at Frank as nicely as he can manage, though his mind wanders in that moment. He's not lying in that moment, but the idea Frank thinks he's such a good person is almost sickening. Usually Gerard wants people to think he's such a gem of a person, and now is no different, expect the fact it makes him wanna throw up. Maybe he can ignore it. "And it's not like it's a great nickname either, you're much too thankful."

"Still," Frank says, brushing away Gerard's denial. "It's cute. You're a sweetheart, honestly."

"I'm not, really. Thanks for the compliment, but if you don't know you're lying now, you'll know soon enough." Gerard grumbles, keeping a stable persona as much as he possibly can, though it breaks as Frank stares at him from across the counter. 

"You are I swear. I don't know how anyone could see you as any less then a genuine—" Franks smiley words were cut off easily, like a sharp knife through onions. The tears that followed may be accurate too.

"Because I'm not! I swear, anyone who thinks such things must be blind to everything!" Gerard yells at Frank, who noticeably flinches. A tight string that hung over the room seemed to break then, an unfortunate event, seeing as they both were attached to that string. Gerard sighed to himself as tears welled up in Franks eyes, maybe it was much to easy to get him to cry, but he had practice. Maybe not is stopping the tears, but surely in starting them up. Again Gerard felt a sting of guilt, not only for making Frank cry, but for seeing those salty tears spill down his cheeks and only being able to process the fact he looked lovely. "Oh, kitten." The nickname easily slid off his tongue.

"Oh, no. God, I'm sorry." Frank wiped away his tears as Gerard strolled towards him, oddly not seeming fazed at all. You should be. Was the first thing Gerard wanted to say, but he stopped himself easily replacing his harsh eyes with a softer look.

"I shouldn't have snapped. I'm sorry." Gerard said, keeping about a foot of space between himself and Frank. He wanted to comfort the younger, and he probably should have, but it didn't feel right in the moment. What if Frank was absolutely mortified by Gerard's actions? Sure, it seemed extreme, and it wasn't like yelling was the worst thing he'd ever done, but it surely seemed possible. For all Gerard knew, Frank could've easily walked out the door then, leaving him disappointed he couldn't keep someone around for even a few days. "Are you okay?"

"Y'know, the fact that I'm a complete crybaby gets to me more then you. To answer you're question, I've been better, but I think that's to blame on the hangover." Frank laughs, rubbing at his eyes weakly. I need to get my shit together, he thinks, trying to gather himself. "Excuse me." Frank lifted himself from his seat, walking to the bathroom without another word to Gerard. 

———

When Frank left the next day Gerard was surprised to say he was slightly disappointed. He'd expected to be relieved to have the weight off his back, not having to worry about the other and how his actions may affect Frank. And while it was a little easier not feeling like he was walking on thin ice, he missed having company in his house that wasn't Patrick—not that his friendship wasn't completely appreciated by Gerard—or certain guests that happened to be tied up and thrown in the basement. The screamers were the most annoying, he really only wanted one person screaming for him. But again, that just made him miss Frank.

It took Gerard about an hour after Frank left to realize he had nothing to do, and nowhere to go. He couldn't call Patrick, considering he was at some party he'd specifically told Gerard not to bother him at.

It was getting dark, and the purplish, orange glow of the sky shined through his now open windows. He strolled to the large, glass panels calmly, sliding then open to step out onto the hardly used, large balcony. It was the kind of balcony you'd expect in a fairytale, a dream that no one thinks about—but everyone has—that balcony. Though, instead of a pure white marble, the railings were wooden, and rather then ivy growing along the walls as described in many fairy tales, frail, pink, bougainvillea grew up his walls beautifully. He didn't pay much attention to the balcony then, instead his eyes were fixated on the view, the stretching ocean in front of him, reflecting the colours of the sky.

Gerard slipped a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it as he leaned over the balcony. He wasn't sure how much sense it made to fight one craving with another, three cravings filled his head at that moment, one dulled by his current actions, one hiding shamefully in the corner due to last nights struggles—though his morals came through then, he's not sure how strong they really were—and one burning like a raging fire. Like an itch that consumed his entire body, something he thought he grew used to, but maybe it was only his growing reliant on it, something that was fed by passion and rage—though one was the mother of the other—the two things he had overstocked at the moment.

Just thinking about it made the itch grow, now was it not only on his skin, it was under it, coursing through his veins. He was angry at everything. Before he knew it his hand balled up into a fist, digging itself into the railing. Before he knew it, he found himself storming through his house, grabbing his jacket and slamming the door behind him. There was no way this was fault. Maybe it was his parents, for somehow raising him incorrectly. Or Patrick, for being much too nice to a friend who didn't deserve it. Or maybe it was Frank, who Gerard had only known for a few weeks, because he was just too goddamn pretty for the older to resist, but much too sweet for him to take what he needed prematurely. 

But, most importantly, the fault was his own. Because he needed more red paint.

———


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took way too long, sorry

"W-what?" Dallon asks, terrified by the artist he'd seen as harmless only hours ago. How the fuck was Pete right? A seemingly harmless man, now threatening to kill him in some cold, dark basement, it was something out of a cheesy horror movie, and Dallon was sure the ominous music would be approaching soon.

"You heard me," Gerard said, almost annoyed by Dallons fear. Usually he was amused by shocked, scared faces, but he wasn't exactly happy about Dallons presence. He liked things to be somewhat planned, and he didn't like the risk of plucking two from the earths population on one night. It was never his style, much too risky a chance, and one of the only rules he had when it came to his bobby. The other laws he had set for himself included not taking from a group—it was much easier to prey on the alone and weak—and not going to the same bar twice in one month. "A simple task I have for you, pal."

"What is it?" Dallon asked, he was lucky to have a good set of instincts, which led him to be calm in such dangerous situation, where others, maybe someone like Pete, would be bewildered and panicky. 

"She's very pretty, isn't she?" Gerard pointed to the girl in the corner with a knife, the weapon had gone unnoticed by Dallon until now, and he flinched at the sight of it, especially fearing the way Gerard tossed it around so freely. Dallon, fearing to disobey Gerard orders, observed the woman for a good moment. A short, red party dress stuck itself to her pale skin, which glistened with sweat from the clubs heat. Her hair was a less sharp hue, a rouge color that matched the softness of her pale skin. She wore a shocking blood colored lipstick, which had smeared itself and ruined the once perfect contrast. All in all, she seemed like a sweet girl, stained by the clubs sickening poison. Another lost, it seemed, to the sea of sweat and liquid happiness.

"I guess." Dallon said, his voice barely there. He watch as Gerard paced across the room, every so often stopping in front of the girl who was passed out, slumped against the wall. Dallon shivered at the coolness of the room, not sure if the temperature was caused by the dampness of the place or the soul who resided here.

"I want you to kill her." Gerard says simply, and Dallon can't speak. They stare at each other for a moment, Gerard trying to look Dallon in the eye as some sort of fear tactic while Dallon does everything in his power to avoid Gerard's gaze. 

"Why?" Dallon asks finally, the question somewhat genuine. Gerard was, a killer? A kidnapper? A criminal? But why? Maybe Dallons curiosity would be the thing that killed him, and maybe he knew that, but it didn't stop him from asking these questions. 

Gerard thought for a moment, wondered if he should tell him the truth, knowing he couldn't tell him the truth—something he hadn't even admitted to himself yet—and silently composing a good lie. All three were works in progress, and Dallon couldn't even possibly come close to what was going on in Gerard's mind at the moment. Sure, Gerard was not really the genius type, but he surely was the unique one, and that made his mind a wonderful, terrifying, heart stopping, gut wrenching place no one would dare travel too unless they were in there last seconds of life, watching his incredulous mind unfold in the darkness in his eyes, in the haunted forest hues, in the almost lustful stare he had while watching others suffer at his hands, tearing them open and watching them bleed until their heart stopped pumping.

But of course, none of that was in mind at the moment, for Gerard kept things light hearted when he could, even in situations like the one he and Dallon faced.

"A crime of opportunity, you could say. I've got nothing against her, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Besides, she's pretty, I always pick the pretty ones. Like flowers, Dallon, you ever pick flowers when you were a kid?" Gerard asked him casually, as if they were talking under normal circumstances.

"Yeah." Dallon replied, hardly even paying attention to anything besides how wrong he was. He should've listened to Pete, he thought, an idea he must have sworn would never come into mind.

"See, when you're picking flowers, you always pick the odd ones for yourself, the interesting ones. But when you're picking them to give to your crush in grade school, you get the pretty ones. Flowers never go outta style, y'know, no matter how old you get. I mean, they get more expensive but, they're still flowers." Gerard goes on a little tangent as he speaks, and Dallon would probably be bored if he wasn't so fascinated by how demented this man was; relating picking out victims to picking flowers in grade school.

"Who are you giving them to then?" As terrified as Dallon was, he couldn't help but ask more questions. What if Gerard was in some cult that made human sacrifices? What a story that'd be—Dallon was almost envious of the reporters.

"All I'm good time my friend. Now, for the kill—which I've come to assume you're taking the opportunity—I'd appreciate if you weren't messy. No crazy psycho stabbing, please." Gerard smiled at Dallon, walking over to him to give him a hand up. Once Dallon was standing upright—significantly taller then Gerard, which oddly to worry the older—he handed him a knife. "Don't even think of trying anything," he says as he pulls out a gun, not exactly his preferred weapon, though it'll do.

Dallon swallows nervously, looking from the lifeless body to Gerard and back. Gerard doesn't look fazed at all, in fact, his looks amused, excited even—he'd never had anyone to share his hobby with. "I don't think I can do this." Dallon breathes, giving a scared look at Gerard, who rolls his eyes. "I'm no murderer."

"Well, you better get over it." Gerard laughs, giving Dallon even more fear then he had before. "Cause, I'm no physic, but I see a lot more of this in your future, my friend." 

"Oh."

———

After being abandoned by Dallon at the club, Pete walks home, defeated and tired. He makes a scene out of it all, to be honest, hunching his back and kicking around empty cans as if he'd been stood up in some romcom, Pete had always had a flair for dramatics. His childhood had included readings of Dr. Suess poems, which had been in requested to be held only under blankets of stars, a few times this specific ask had led him to the planetarium. 

His parents thought he was an odd child, the aspects of normal childhood luxuries—such as toys or trips to Disneyland any other child would request with the knowledge they could have almost anything— didn't really appeal to him. Sure, he used his parents money and was really quite spoiled, but he spent the seemingly endless cash in odd ways. He'd buy boxes upon boxes of ice cream cones, crush them up, and pretend they were sand, when a trip to the beach was an easy feat—no matter how far away they were from one. His babysitter was only to wear lime green clothing, and he wanted bags of multi coloured carrots, even though he only ate the orange ones.

He carried this oddness into his adult years, something Frank pointed out frequently. But it wasn't like Frank didn't carry any of his childhood tendencies into his adulthood.

As an oh so helpful example, Pete was met with the sight of Frank intensely watching Gravity Falls like he an old Christian lady watching a church program hosted by an over enthusiastic 'preacher' would. Pete couldn't blame Frank, he liked the show too, and had specific memories of them watching it after binging on horror movies. Frank got creeped out by everything, so Pete made sure they only watched horrors early in the morning, but on this particular night, he'd somehow disregarded this rule, and caused Frank to stay up the rest of the night, waking Pete up every time he dosed off and leaving all the lights on.

"Where were you?" Frank asks Pete, patting the seat on the couch next to him. Pete sat down, he eyes glancing over the tv screen, uninterested. He could only worry, wonder where Dallon had disappeared to. What if he'd found a lead? Pete wanted to talk to someone about it, preferably Dallon. He would talk to Frank, but Pete didn't think he'd appreciate starting a conversation on the whereabouts of the private investigator he'd hired in secret to stalk Franks new friend. 

Pete wondered what would happen if Frank found out. He wouldn't be surprised if Frank went to stay with Gerard. The thought made Pete boil, he didn't want his best friend spending anymore time the with the older man. He was sick, sure, Pete didn't know him, but he knew that somewhere deep down, that man was messed up. Isn't that a required trait for an artist? To be fucked up enough to make something beautiful? Even putting that aside, Pete got a bad vibe from Gerard. He'd met him a few times, not too long to have a full conversation, but long enough to know at least somewhat of his 'personality' when he wasn't talking to the press. (If you could call art critics the press, who pays attention to that shit anyway?)

Contrary to no ones true beliefs, when the rich and famous get together, they don't magically let all they're secrets go flying, unless they're idiots. No, when these people get together, they put on the masks, same as they do in preparation to talk to the media, or someone else that could ruin their reputation. Sure it's a different mask, decorations that included little jokes in that set voice wealthy people seem to have, chuckles that made Pete want to claw his eyes out, and odd body language that was easily deciphered to be a assertion of dominance. Most of these things were so easily fake a kindergartener could point them out before they found out that spider they found in their room was fake, and planted by their brother. 

When Pete met Gerard, he knew he was different. And maybe not the good kind of different, no matter what Frank insisted.

He was charming, unauthentically authentic. His lies seemed to flow off his tongue in perfect mix with the truth, like one of those brownies that had kale in them—Frank had forced Pete to eat one once, he hadn't forgiven him yet, no matter how well the vegetable was hidden. Pete remembered the specifics of that night so clearly, for it was one of the few times his parents genuinely liked someone they met. Usually, Pete would hear only bitching about the guests at the parties his parents attended—not that he could blame them—but that night he only heard nice things about Gerard. It was foreign, especially since Pete hadn't really seen him as all that. He was a liar, everyone seemed to see that, it was plainly obvious, and even more true with the research Pete had done, but Gerard carried that title so nicely it seemed almost like a compliment. 

Pete could easily see Frank falling for this guy—hell, he could see himself falling for him, he was that good at the games he played. In fact, it was so possible it was almost scary. It wasn't that Pete didn't want his friend happy, he did, but he didn't want him happy with Gerard. In fact, somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, he had the hopeful assumption that he and Frank were gonna stay stupid, single 'young adults' till they died. But Frank probably didn't want that, even if he wasn't gonna he spending the rest of his life with Gerard, he surely wasn't gonna be spending it with Pete. 

In all truth, what Pete needed was someone besides his best friend, cause at the moment, Frank was basically the only human interaction he got.

"I said," Frank sighed, turning to glare at Pete. "Where were you?"

"Out."

———


	10. Chapter 10

"Frank!" Pete called, the name echoing from the seemingly empty house. He could feel himself shaking with an irrational fear, one hand gripping the deep brown, wooden handrail of the winding stairwell. Pete could remember the first time he had seen the stairs, it was one of the main characteristics of the apartment that Pete was weary about it. He didn't really like being reminded of his parents wealth, as it triggered bad memories of its effects, and the staircase was a prime example of an object of wealth.

It took up a lot of fucking room, if Pete was being honest, and it featured carvings as well as a carpet, red as blood, flowing down the middle like a stab wound would be found at the top, all of the bells and whistles to make it extra "look at me I'm fucking rich". Unfortunately for Pete, Frank had been with Pete when he was looking at places—he was going to be living with him, after all—and had absolutely loved the grandness of the staircase, which Pete found amusing. Pete was slightly convinced his friend genuinely just wanted to be a fucking princess, even though he hated it when Pete tried to give him anything worth more then a happy meal.

He heard sounds coming from up stairs, pulling him out of his thoughts like a soft whisper directly into your ear, so it wasn't as quiet anymore. He rushed up the stairs, and just moments later was faced with the bathroom door, banging on it ruthlessly. Pete was out of breath by the time he got up there, which was a little sad in theory, but understandable considering he was severely out of shape and had already ran the ten blocks home. 

"Frank! Open up!" Pete called breathlessly, and a few seconds later the door creaked open, which couldn't have been an easy feat, seeing as Frank was still sitting on the floor when he opened the door. 

"What the fuck happened?" Pete asked. He didn't have the best personality when it came to comforting someone, and he surely didn't know how to deal with situations such as these. 

"Nightmares." Frank sniffled, wiping his face with an already tear stained sleeve. He wore an massively oversized hoodie, which Pete didn't recognise, leading him to the conclusion it was Gerard's. Yuck.

"That's what you get for sleeping in the middle of the day." Pete sighed, offering a hand to help Frank up. He didn't really think a joke was appropriate at the time—no matter how shitty—but Pete didn't know how else to deal with it. Franks nightmares weren't usual nightmares, they were terrible. They were screaming and crying and kicking and hiding and irrationalism. Pete would know, he got one too many black eyes from Franks nightmares. "Okay, okay. Let's go down stairs, I'll make you ramen or something." 

Frank smiled weakly, following Pete down with his blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. Pete was still thinking about Gerard's sweatshirt, and it was much too optimistic to say he was happy about it. Pete's main arguments included the point it wasn't even cold, nor had it been for a few weeks, meaning Gerard didn't even have a good reason for poisoning Franks wardrobe. Pete was ready to throw up when Frank nuzzled his face into it; how could he fall for such an asshole? Pete thought, but it was pretty obvious Frank was a magnet for assholes, Pete and Gerard were just two examples, or one if you asked either party mentioned.

———

Dallon was tired, to put it plain and simple. He'd spent the past two days feeling as if someone drained him of his insides and left his shell to live on, barely gripping to life. His lips were chapped beyond repair and he'd only had about two glasses of water since he'd woke up in the basement. One was a 'reward' after the kill, and another was because he was about to actually faint, and Gerard couldn't bare to see Dallon get put out of his misery. 

Dallon felt empty, in more ways then one. He was hungry, for starters, the last thing he ate were those fucking jalapeño poppers at that shitty bar that really shouldn't even serve food unless you count weed brownies. When he even mentioned how starving he was, Gerard laughed, telling him the carcass in the corner was up for grabs. 

The other empty was much more unsolvable, even with Dallons "detective skills" as Pete so eloquently put it. No, he couldn't solve this emptiness with a sub sandwich, this emptiness had begun to eat him up the moment his head hit the street that night, and only devoured more since then. He'd taken someone's life. There was no going back from that, and Gerard reminded him every chance he got.

Dallon knew Gerard wasn't lying when he said he could pin this all on him, that he could ruin his life in a push of a button. Dallon also knew Gerard wasn't lying when he said that this could be easy for Dallon, if he listened to him and played his cards right, Dallon could probably leave the horrid basement and go home. Sure, he'd still have repercussions, owe his entire life to the man that made him take anothers. He'd be in servitude for as long as the older said, but at least he'd be able live his life somewhat normally.

Dallon knew it'd never be the same again, but it could be okay.

"I've been thinking," Gerard said one morning—or night, Dallon couldn't tell really—leaning against the old, creaky wooden staircase that led up to what Dallon assumed to be the first floor of wherever they were, watching Dallon chug down the water Gerard had brought him. "I'm gonna let you go today."

"What?" Dallon asked, surprised. He'd known that Gerard's promises weren't empty when it came to eventually letting him go, but he didn't think it'd be so soon. "Really?"

"Yeah, sure. I mean, you really aren't a main priority, and considering the amount of work it is to keep you alive, I think I'd rather just supervise from a distance." Gerard shrugged, walking over to Dallon easily. "Of course, that is if I can trust you?" Gerard searched   
Dallons eyes for any hint of dishonesty when he answered, but found none.

"No, no! You can count on me, I mean, I can promise I won't tell anyone or do anything..." Dallons voice is a little weary, and Gerard laughs.

"Yeah, yeah." He dismisses, unlocking the cuffs he'd used to keep the taller there the last few days. "It'd be really appreciated if you could tell Pete you blacked out or met a girl or something, whatever, just come up with a good lie. And so far there's no leads on my case, okay? I'll deal with that later but for now, just, tell him you're getting somewhere and can't be disturbed or some bullshit." Dallon nodded, sensing Gerard's urgency to get him out of there. He wondered why, but knew the topic shouldn't be poked at unless he wanted his tongue cut out or some other twisted thing Gerard might do to keep his mouth shut.

Dallon rubbed his wrists after being let out of the confines completely, Gerard rolling his eyes. Dallon pulled himself up from the floor, trying not to look at the spot where the body had been. By now Gerard had cleaned it up, but Dallon could practically feel its presence. He wondered how Gerard lived with that, he wondered how many people Gerard had killed, how many people he'd killed in this basement.

"I'll be calling you." Gerard told Dallon as he showed him out a back door. It seemed stupid, almost clumsy not to take more measures in making sure Dallon didn't know where he lived, or couldn't get back to the city so easily, but Gerard didn't see the point. He'd probably be returning, and knocking him out and dumping him in the woods just seemed like a waste of time he'd rather spend elsewhere.

"Okay." Dallon barely got to mutter before the door was slammed in his face, leaving him to find his way be himself.

———

"You feeling any better?" Pete asks Frank as they watch whatever cheesy movie hallmark had to offer. Frank was hanging upside down, blood rushing to his head as Pete kept his feet anchored. They'd moved around a lot on couch, at one point Frank found himself in Pete's lap, to which Pete responded by pushing him off, ignoring Franks statement of "I deserve attention!" from the ground.

"Yeah, I guess." Frank muttered, intently watching the screen as character hid in the bushes to avoid her love interest. Frank almost laughed, but he didn't want the scrutiny from Pete for enjoying such an awful piece of trash. 

There was a knock at the door, to which Frank sighed, noticing Pete didn't even react to it. "Must be the pizza." He said, kicking Pete a little as a signal for him to go get it. Pete complied reluctantly, dragging himself to the door. As soon as he opened it, he wanted to close it.

"Hey." Gerard said, giving Pete an all but pleasant look. Pete couldn't argue the look, because he gave a simpler, fed up expression as he considered slamming the door in the olders face before Frank noticed who was there. Unfortunately, Gerard pushed past him before he got the chance, not even waiting to be invited in. Pete scoffed, closing the door and stomping off to the stairs. 

"Hey, Frankie." Gerard gave a little laugh as Frank fumbled out of his position hanging upside down from the couch, surprised by his arrival. Frank laughed at himself, fixing himself and leaning on Gerard a little as he did so.

"I didn't expect you here." Frank said, a hand pressed flat against Gerard's chest, partly to keep himself balanced, partly to touch the other. "That was a head rush." Frank shakes his head, as if he's trying to fix it.

"I can imagine." Gerard chuckles, pressing a chaste kiss to Franks lips. "I was in the neighborhood and wondering if you wanted to go get something to eat?" Frank really wanted to say yes, and easily could have if he spent too much time looking into the olders eyes, which were very convincing when it came to anything he asked. Frank knew it wasn't a good idea to say yes considering his state, and it would only upset Pete if he invited Gerard to stay there.

"I'd really love too, but I'm not feeling too good today." Frank told him, feeling a stab at Gerard's disappointed face. It was insanely sobering to see his cool facade down for even just a second, and somewhere past his guilt for turning down a much desired night out, he was a little happy to see that Gerard cared wether or not he said yes, like he was actually wanted and not just some passing thing. "We can go tomorrow if that's good, or really whenever you want, but I'm really out of it all right now, I don't think I'd be much fun to be around anyway."

"I can assure you, you could be passed out on the ground and you'd be fun to be around." Gerard smiles sickly sweet, and Frank takes a tiny, instinctive step back, not really getting what Gerard meant but definitely sensing the threatening undertones he gave off. "Well, Ill just see you tomorrow then." 

"Yeah, of course." Frank said, wrapping his arms around Gerard's neck, ignoring the protests from his nervous mind. "Maybe you can stay a little while?" 

"No, no. I remembered I actually have some work to get done." Gerard told him, resting a hand on Franks side comfortably and pushing him away carefully as a signal he really had to leave. Gerard pressed another kiss to his lips though making sure this one lasted a bit longer then the first, deeper, but not to a point where it'd really lead anywhere. "You'll make it up to me though, won't you, kitten?" 

"Yeah." Frank said, biting his lip and giving Gerard a little smile before he left.

———


End file.
